


Past Tense

by PoolexBordey_Forever



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Action, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Head Injury, Injury Recovery, Love eventually, Major Character Injury, Memory Related, Self-Reflection, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, new characters - Freeform, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoolexBordey_Forever/pseuds/PoolexBordey_Forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An arrest gone horribly wrong places Richard and the rest of his team through an emotional wringer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
> 
>    
> Hello, everyone. Here's my first foray into a full-blown, multi-chapter Richard and Camille DiP fanfic. I've rated it M for the violence, just in case. So if you're sensitive to this sort of thing, PLEASE DON'T READ IT. I wish I can tell you to skip Chapter 1 but it's essential to the plot. It's how this whole thing began. (But maybe you can. I've also posted chapter 2. So try it and see what happens.) Again, here's a big arse warning with three exclamation points for good measure: WARNING!!!
> 
> Mind, I didn't write about gory, horrific violence, where blood was spurting and limbs were being detached. But the first chapter depicts a somewhat realistic take on what we see coppers and criminals do in real life arrests and take-downs (Youtube has a lot of videos on these things if you're curious enough). Although, my version of the said event is a bit 'stylized' because in real life situations everything happens so fast and more often than not, real life violence is truly merciless, relentless and deadly (and painful to watch or even read about). So I find it quite difficult to describe that in writing or maybe a part of me just doesn't want to. This is why I invoke artistic license and suspension of disbelief on Chapter 1. But suffice it to say, somebody's going to get hurt. And that somebody is going to get hurt badly.
> 
> How I wish I could say that this fanfic is going to be light-hearted, humourous and giddiness-inducing, but I can't because I seem to have a tendency to conjour dark, angsty, grit-laden DiP stories in my head. And then, place Richard and Camille smack dab in the middle of such scenarios. Maybe it's because I like to see them both in a serious crime drama like Wallander or Hinterlands. But nah! That would be totally insane, right? Not Richard Poole. Never. LOL. Anyway, rest assured that this is a Richard and Camille (love) story. I have no doubt about that. It's just that it's going to take a little while to get there. (^_~) 
> 
> Thanks.
> 
>    
> WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

* * *

 

Detective Inspector Richard Poole didn't expect the sheer violence of the men they plan to arrest that day. The men were non-islanders so that should have given him a lot more reasons to be on guard for his team. But almost two years living and working in scenic and tranquil Saint-Marie had dulled his foresight a bit. It was as if he was lulled into believing that criminal elements, even murderers, won’t be the aggressive kind. However, such a notion was proving to be difficult as the men they were trying to apprehend were far from wanting to surrender quietly. 

At the moment, it was taking both his officers, Dwayne and Fidel, all their faculties to subdue the one they caught disembarking from the ferry. Meanwhile, Camille and him were preoccupied with a particularly nasty one who kept leering and spouting lewd remarks at her. He tried hard to maintain a professional poker face but he just had it. "That's enough!" He shouted into the perp’s ear. Richard clearly wanted to sock him in the mouth but he tempered himself. He made a move to handcuff both arms of the suspect. But with a sudden movement, the man shoved Richard aside and made a run for it. Camille legged after him. 

He scrambled to his feet, intent at running after Camille and the suspect. Truth be told, he was worried about his DS than he would like to admit. The man was clearly taller, stronger and, he suspected, on something. He shouted at Fidel to run after both. They must not lose sight of them or Camille would be in trouble. Not that he doubted her ability to defend herself but he simply had a bad feeling about that suspect. 

He cursed at his middle-aged body, his lungs bursting at his haste and his legs burning under him. He was thankful that Fidel already overtook him, at least one of them could catch up to Camille and the perp. He felt pain stitches on his side and cursed at his middle-aged body again. ‘Christ, I'm getting too old for this,’ he panted. But he willed himself to run as fast as he could just the same.

The suspect ran into a crowd, pushing and shoving people aside. He ran in and out of side streets with Camille hot on his heels. He kicked chairs and tables to stop Camille but she was relentless in her pursuit. She knew these streets like the back of her hands. Then the man made a wrong turn somewhere and found himself in a dead end alley, cornered and with no route to escape. The alley way, itself, wasn’t too narrow, but concrete, colorful walls dotted along either side of it. The only way out was to scale the smooth walls or to go back to the way he came from. 

He turned around and leered at a waiting Camille. She stood at a ready, her stance said she would hold her ground and not let him go anywhere. The man just sneered and licked his lips. “You’re one crazy, persistent bitch, are you?” he intoned. Camille just glared at him. “Heh. I don’t care. I like them crazy anyway.” He rushed toward her and threw a powerful punch but Camille parried the blow with her arm, while her other arm went up, palm heel open, fingers curled and hit the man right up his face with all her might. It connected and broke the man’s nose. 

The suspect pulled away from her in pain, clutching his bloodied face. He wiped the blood away with his arm and made ready to attack Camille again. This time, he intended to trap Camille into a front bear hug, but she threw a kick at his midsection before he could reach her. The kick reached the target but it wasn’t strong enough to push him back. He caught Camille's leg but she was quick enough to spin her lithe body out, bringing her other boot-clad foot to the side of his head. 

Camille thanked her training in Paris for being extra prepared for the arrest. She knew they won’t be able to carry guns for protection, so she had dressed comfortably and shrewdly. The pair of lace-up canvas boots she had on were part of her arsenal of ‘pseudo‘ weapons. Light enough to be able to run after suspects but heavy duty enough to use to defend and attack in hand-to-hand combat. 

They both hit the ground at the same time. Camille stood up quickly and held her fists up again. ‘Tsk. This man isn't going to surrender anytime soon,’ she thought to herself. The suspect appeared dazed from her kick. He shook his head, not minding the trickle of blood where Camille's boot had hit him. He casually pulled something out of his pocket. Camille saw the suspicious move and noticed him pop something in his mouth. ‘What the hell was that? Drugs?‘ she wondered grimly.

The suspect stood up slowly, snapping his neck from side to side as if to get rid of a crick. He had the nasty leer on his face again. Camille stood at a ready, doubling her guard. Curious onlookers had started mingling about in the area as their commotion attracted a crowd. ‘Now there are people who might get hurt,” she mentally berated herself. 

But the man before her clearly didn't care. His eyes were glazed over and nothing mattered in his peripheral vision. He was focused on only one thing and that was the woman police officer in front of him. He started doing boxing moves, dancing and dodging. From his movement, Camille could see that the man knew how to box well. Before she knew it, he was on to her again. He started throwing punches at her in rapid succession, but Camille was quicker.

She was able to dodge or block but she could sense something was wrong. His blows had gotten much stronger. One jab she parried had pushed her back a few inches. Another punch grazed her cheek and she could feel the explosive power in it. A dull, sharp ache creeped on her face. ‘These fists if they hit me directly, I’d be unconscious in seconds,’ she surmised. So she wisely and immediately put some distance between them.

She swiftly took out her collapsible baton and flicked it to its full length. She loathed to use deadly force but the situation deemed it necessary. The man was getting all riled up now, shouting and spitting at people. He picked up a PVC pipe and threatened onlookers with it. Fearing for the public's safety, Camille called out to him. "You should give yourself up, I don't want anybody to get hurt." 

He looked at her as if she was crazy and dashed toward her. He brought the pipe down on Camille but she expertly shielded herself with the baton. But the sheer weight of his blow brought her down to her knees and the edge of the pipe grazed her temple, drawing blood. When he lifted the pipe for another blow, she quickly hit his leg with the baton, hard and precise, to bring him down. The pipe dropped and she heard bone cracked, the man's knee buckled a little but he remained stubbornly standing.  

Camille knew she had to be relentless and not give the suspect a chance to recover. She dealt him another blow of the baton right on the other knee. But the man didn’t seem to feel pain anymore. He suddenly reached down, yanked Camille up by her other arm and twisted it hard. She screamed in pain but had the presence of mind to hit with the baton again. This time, she aimed it on the suspect's arm that held her in a vice-like grip. He let her go but with an angry, frustrated shout, he bodily pushed her on a concrete wall. 

Her whole body shook from the violent force it had received as her head hit the wall first. She struggled to steady herself but she could feel she was slowly sliding to the ground. Her shoulder throbbed with excruciating pain. She knew she was losing consciousness fast. But she blinked her eyes, willing them to keep open. She saw the suspect limped toward her. ‘The baton,’ she thought desperately. But it was no longer in her hand.

"Camille!" Somebody called out. She could sense the man was right in front of her. She could feel his hands hovering on her neck. Her eyes fluttered, trying to make out the blurry shapes. She could hear shouts and scuffles as if something chaotic was going on in front of her. Somebody was shouting. Another was calling out in French to get a firm hold on the suspect. 

There were a number of sounds mixing together, the suspect's shouts continued but eventually got muffled in the sea of unknown voices. She struggled to keep awake as her body went into life-saving mode. Her breathing became shallow as her consciousness slipped further away. "Camille!" Somebody shouted again, distant and obscure. "Just hang in there. I got you," it said anxiously as she finally succumbed to darkness.

* * *

 

END CHAPTER NOTE:

_Just a last minute thought: One reason I came up with this kind of chapter is because I wanted to write Camille in a fight scene. I believe she is capable of taking down anyone in hand-to-hand combat under 'normal' circumstances. Of course, the situation I put her through is way beyond 'normal' but she held her own considering the odds against her. I think we need more fanfics exploring undercover Camille's abilities. That would be awesome beyond measure!_  

 


	2. Trounced

* * *

 

Horror didn’t even begin to describe the feeling Richard felt when he saw what was going on in that alley. Sure, he saw murdered, bloodied victims in a crime scene almost all of his career. But he had never seen actual acts of violence committed on his colleagues before. Maybe he did when he was a police constable but it was such a long time ago. Years spent sitting at his desk and pouring over evidence on white boards had perhaps blurred the memory. 

But seeing Camille crumpled to the ground whilst the suspect, who got away from them earlier, menacingly advance toward her sent shivers down his spine. He would never forget that scene, it was forever etched on his brain. A cold realization clutched at his heart as he willed his body to move beyond its ability. He had never ran so fast and so desperately in his life before.   

When he caught up to Fidel a few minutes ago, he thought he couldn't run anymore, gasping for breath as he was. For a moment, he stood frozen at the spot when he saw where Camille was but he knew right away she was in danger. He shot to his feet, aiming to get to her in time and hoping to shield her motionless form from the lunatic intent on killing her. 

His hands trembled as he recalled the event. If it hadn't been for Fidel's quick feet, they might have gotten there too late. He tamped down the nauseating feeling rising inside him. He clenched his fists tightly, forcing his stomach to settle and his heart rate to slow down. He had to think clearly.  

Fidel had body slammed the suspect just as he was reaching down to get to Camille. The man went off balance and fell to the ground with him. Richard approached them, pulling all the experience and knowledge he had learned as police constable to help subdue the suspect. 

But the man refused to go down and kept throwing punches and kicks, even if Richard had him pinned with his whole body. He quickly saw the glazed over eyes and salivating mouth. ‘He must be high on drugs,’ Richard thought. But he didn't have time to think about where the suspect got it from and how. They had to secure handcuffs on him quickly. 

Fidel was clinging on to the man and had him on a chokehold but the man just kept trying to stand up while Richard was bodily on top of him. If this kept up, the struggle would further injure the suspect and hurt both him and Fidel. He had no choice. He shouted at the bystanders with all the authority he could muster, "We need men to hold this guy down! Right now!" 

It didn't take long for able-bodied men to come help. Fidel shouted instructions in French as the man showed no sign of being tired or exhausted. Five men held down the suspect as Fidel deftly bound the still struggling man's arms and legs with a thick rope brought by a bystander. Richard wasted no time. He ran to Camille right away. Somebody in the crowd had the presence of mind to call the ambulance. He could hear the siren approaching. 

"Camille," he intoned, worry and fear thick in his voice. "Hang in there alright. Just hang in there." He took out his handkerchief and pressed it on the back of her bleeding head, exerting pressure. He took her hand, "I got you." 

He looked at her unconscious form—a nasty graze on her cheek, an open wound on her temple, darkening bruises on her shoulders and arms. He blinked his eyes rapidly. "You need a lesson on not to engage a criminal without backup," he managed to choke out. 

The paramedics was now at his side, working quickly. He looked around and saw Fidel standing by the perp, whose hands and feet were tied securely. "Fidel, transport him to the hospital as well. We need a toxicology screen done on him to find out what he's on. He also need medical attention for his injuries. I'm going to ride with her." 

Fidel just nodded as he looked at Camille being wheeled into the ambulance. His face looked grim, "Will she be alright, sir?" Richard wasn't sure. He gave him a slight nod, neither reassuring nor saying much. "I'll see you at the hospital." 

Camille remained unconscious the whole ride to the hospital. The paramedics told him she had dislocated her shoulder. They were able to stop the bleeding on her head. He kept holding her hand, squeezing it occasionally to remind himself she was still breathing. As they wheeled her into emergency, he stood in the waiting room, running a hand on his face and willing himself to take a breath. 

He called the Commissioner and apprised him of the situation. "How is she?" asked the Commissioner on the other line, his usual voice more fatherly than official. "I don't know yet, sir. They are still patching her up." He said, trying to sound calm and collected. "Has Catherine been informed?" 

"No sir," he admitted. "I'm just waiting for the doctor to give me an update. Then I'll go to Catherine's to tell her personally. I will bring her here myself."

"Good. I'll make my way to the hospital shortly," said the Commissioner. He got off the phone as he saw Fidel approaching him.

"Sir, the suspect is being treated right now," the young officer said. "He finally calmed down as we loaded him in the car and looked more subdued. He’s conscious on the way here," he told Richard reassuringly as if reading what was on his mind. The last thing they want was a suspect dead on their custody. "Dwayne is with him right now."

Richard nodded. The ordeal had taken its toll on him and he was now feeling exhausted. He tiredly sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Good. Thank you, Fidel. How are you and Dwayne doing? No major injuries, I hope." 

"Just some simple scrape and scratches, Sir. Nothing major. Dwayne even said he's as fit as a fiddle," Fidel said, quite enthusiastically, remnants of adrenaline still in him. But he soon realized he shouldn't sound too eager. "Sir, how's Camille?" he asked tentatively. 

"I don't know yet. The doctor hasn't come out to tell me anything," he sounded tired. "She's got a nasty wound on the back of her head and her temple, a graze on her cheek, multiple bruises and a dislocated shoulder," he said, releasing a worried sigh. "If we hadn't...if you weren't fast on your feet, it could have been much worse."

"Camille is strong, sir. That guy has a broken nose and a broken kneecap. She would have taken him down before we got there if not for the effects of the drug he's on. The guy looked like he's got too much uppers in his system if it took five men to pin him down," Fidel said, in an attempt to alleviate his senior officer's worry. 

Yes, in normal circumstances, he believed Camille could have dispatched that man quickly. But there was nothing normal about that suspect. The man wasn’t even worried when he tried to arrest him. He shifted his eyes too much and talked too much. Richard remembered the way the man leered at Camille and openly disrespected her. Now he had put her in a hospital. He closed his eyes as if willing the what ifs and worst case scenarios off his head. It wouldn't do to dwell on those. What they need was more information. As if on cue, the emergency doctor came out and met them. 

"Inspector Poole, Dr. Alain Dupard," the doctor said, shaking his hand and then moving on to Fidel. "Doctor. Ah, this is Sergeant Fidel Best," Richard said curtly.

"Sergeant Bordey's still not conscious. But we're able to treat her injuries. We're currently doing several tests on her to determine if she has suffered neurological damage from her head injury. In cases like these we're very concerned with internal bleeding and brain swelling. So we can't make an accurate diagnosis until the test results come in. I would need to ask the circumstances of her injuries. It's imperative I know exactly how it happened?"

Richard looked at him dumbfounded. In the rush and chaos of the arrest, he had completely forgotten to follow procedure. He didn't see what happened but there would have been witnesses who had seen the whole thing go down. But all those things faded as he anxiously rode away in the ambulance with her. 

He looked perplexed but Fidel saved him. "Sir, before Dwayne and I got here, there were witnesses who came forward to relay to us what happened. Apparently, when the suspect was cornered in that alley, he had chosen to fight instead of surrendering to Camille. They exchanged blows and Camille had to use her baton on him. It seemed that she was gaining the upper hand but the suspect pushed her to a concrete wall with his body where she hit her head. That's when we found her."

The doctor nodded.  "Given the violent nature of her attack, she may suffer from a traumatic brain injury. But we'll know for sure once her scans are done. Have you informed her immediate family? We'd like a relative of hers present in case we need decisions on specific course of action and treatment."

"Yes, I'm going to pick up her mother right now and bring her here," Richard said. "Another thing, doctor, Sergeant Bordey has been injured while making an arrest and so this makes it a police matter as well. I'd like you to keep intensive documentation of her injuries and tests as they will help in building the case against the perpetrator who did this to her. Also, I would appreciate it if you can keep me informed of her progress." 

"Certainly, Inspector. I’ll make sure everything will be in official reports. You have our full cooperation," the doctor reassured. "Now if you'll excuse me." 

Richard and Fidel stood there in silence, each processing the information they had received. It dawned on them that Camille was badly injured. Richard spoke first, forcing himself to compartmentalize and set aside personal feelings to do his duty. 

"Right, Fidel. The Commissioner is on his way here and he would want to know how Camille is doing. I'd like you to give the report in case he comes around when I’m not here. I would also like to know how our suspect is doing. I need him treated, sobered and ready. We need to interrogate him for this case. You and Dwayne can go in shifts, guarding him. Perhaps, the Commissioner can provide us with extra manpower. Anyway, I'm off to see Catherine and bring her here. I'll be back."

"Yes, sir. I'll see how the suspect is doing. I'll call you if anything comes up," Fidel said, trying to steady his shaking voice. Camille wasn’t just a colleague, she was a friend. Their team was a close-knit unit and it was hard not to be overwhelmed with emotion. He found it painful to recount the detailed witness accounts earlier because every word felt like a stab. But he had to put up a brave front just like what his Chief was doing. He learned that in this job, there was no time to break down, one needed to get back up to face the ordeal head on.

"Thank you, Fidel. Back in a bit," Richard shot back absentmindedly as he made his way toward the Defender. 

* * *

 


	3. Overwhelmed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read, comment and give kudos. I really appreciate it. :) Here's the next chapter.
> 
> Um, glaring discrepancies or inaccuracies in the medical parts of the previous and later chapters are my fault. Alas, I do not have first hand knowledge of these things. I'm just arm-chairing some of them, thanks to online medical sites, emergency responder e-books, medical fiction books, hospital TV dramas and medical reality-TV. Have you seen that live brain surgery on the National Geographic Channel? Quite fascinating. 
> 
> Right. You may proceed reading. Thanks again.

* * *

 

A million things ran through Richard’s head as he drove to La Kaz. Questions  invaded his thoughts — what would he tell Catherine, how would she react, how would he cope with her distress, how could he reassure her when he didn’t have the slightest idea if Camille was going to be out of danger or not. 

Contrary to what others may think, he wasn't immune to the grief and distress of family members of murdered victims. Their cries and hurt reverberated in his every being as he explained what happened, as he probed them of every ounce of information they rather not revisit when their loved one was still alive. 

Their overwhelming sadness always spurred him on, not to seek justice because that was too abstract, too noble, he didn’t think he was that kind of man. He dealt with cold hard facts and evidence that can be seen, touched and used in prosecution. He was that simple and straightforward. And his only skill was to doggedly pursue the truth and unmask the culprit in the process.

As he parked the Defender in front of La Kaz, he let out a resolute breath to keep himself focused and steady. He walked in the restaurant, which was thankfully deserted at this time of day. He saw Catherine, busy at the bar putting bottles and glasses away. She glanced up as he walked in and gave him a big smile.

"Why Richard, you're early for your tea. A slow day at the station, too?" she said as she made the move to gather his usual tea cup and teapot. 

"Catherine," he acknowledged her with a nod and a brief smile. But his expression remained serious. "Sorry but I won't be having tea today, I need you to close shop early."

Catherine raised an eyebrow as if deciding whether to get annoyed with him or not. But something about his demeanour stopped her. "Why? What is it? Is it Cami?" She eyed him instantly, her face showing apparent worry and anxiety.

Richard met her eyes and gave her a solemn nod. He could sense her controlled agitation but steeled himself. "Yes. She's at the hospital. I've come to take you to her." 

Catherine didn't hear half of what Richard said, she had swiftly moved to the doors of her shop and began closing them. She had a hard time pulling one of the doors in place when Richard gently placed a hand on her shoulder and told her to let him handle it. 

She moved back to the bar, secured her register and grabbed her bag. They wordlessly stepped out of the shop with her locking the door behind them. Richard could see how much will she was putting in to stop herself from crying right there and then.

"Has she been shot?" was Catherine's first question to him when they were in the Defender.

"No. She's injured during an arrest," said Richard, he was trying hard to keep to the facts without giving too much information. But at the same time he didn't want to sound trivial or nonchalant as if Camille wasn't badly hurt. It was a delicate balance. He felt a small sigh escaped Catherine.

"Good," she said, clasping and unclasping her hands to keep from trembling. "What happened?" 

"She was in pursuit of a suspect who ran from us and she got to him first and moved to arrest him but the suspect resisted and put up a fight," he said all at once. He hoped that his 'official' talk would help minimize her growing anxiety. It didn't.

"Richard!" she said sharply. "Don't give me a sanitized version of what happened. She's not just a victim. My only daughter is a decorated police officer. She's been shot twice. Do you think this is the first time I had to go to the hospital to see her in similar circumstances? Non. Now talk to me and tell me the damn truth. What happened to Camille during that arrest?"

Richard tightly gripped the steering wheel at Catherine's onslaught. This was the mother of his partner, his DS, his friend whom he deeply cared about and yes, she deserved the truth from him as her daughter's superior officer and friend. He mentally collected himself.

"Yes, you're right, Catherine. I'm sorry, I wasn't forthcoming. She's been badly injured. We went to the docks to arrest wanted men. But one of them got away and Camille ran after him. She tried to bring the man down and arrest him. But this man, he was on drugs and he fought back...and he…Camille got..." Richard's voice hitched. He knew how easy it was to spout facts without emotion, but this time he was finding it hard to objectively narrate the event. 

He just couldn't bring himself to utter the rest of the words. It was just too personal, too close to home and he loathed to recall them. For the first time in his career as an investigator, he now knew how the victim’s family and friends felt when they were made to remember every detail pertaining to their dead loved ones.

Catherine sensed his hesitation and gripped his arm. She nodded in understanding, her eyes moist with threatening tears. She forced herself to look forward and nothing was said between them as they approached the hospital. 

When they arrived, Dr. Dupard was already in the lobby, waiting for them. After cursory introductions, he ushered them to Camille's room. Catherine couldn't hold in the tears she was trying to keep at bay. Seeing her daughter in a hospital again, broken and unconscious, triggered a slew of memories she rather forget. She thought she had seen enough in her lifetime, but danger would never be too far away because of her daughter's profession. She knew that, even accepted it, but it didn't mean she liked it one bit.

"She woke up a few minutes ago, then fell back to sleep. It's a good sign. Her tests show no internal bleeding or brain swelling so far but we'll continue to monitor her condition. She's on heavy medication right now. So she may be incoherent and disorientated," the doctor told Catherine as gently as he could. "She's seriously injured, Madame Bordey, it will take a bit of recovery on her part but she'll survive."

Catherine just nodded, holding her daughter's hand. "Thank you, Doctor." He excused himself and met Richard standing just outside the door. "Inspector, she's going to be alright. Like I told Madame Bordey, she'll be in for a bit of recovery but she'll live." Richard shook the doctor's hand harder than necessary in his relief to hear the news. "Why don't you come in to see her," the doctor suggested.

"No…I'm good. Didn't want to intrude on their privacy," Richard stuttered, his reserve and reticence prevailing. "I'll go in a little bit later." Dr. Dupard just nodded and left him. 

He remained standing by the doorway, nervously smoothing his shirt. He had unconsciously rolled down his sleeves and re-did a few buttons to look somewhat official since he had left his jacket and tie at the station. He ran his hand over his face and heaved a sigh. It was the first time that day his shoulders didn't feel so heavy. 

‘She’s going to be alright,’ Richard repeated to himself, needing reassurance in those whispered words. Then he heard her voice, a bit muffled and dazed. She was speaking in French. He strained to hear it.

"I'm so…sorry…Maman…" Camille slurred. "You…have…to…be in the hospital again…I'm so…sorry…"

"Shhh…everything's fine," Catherine assured her. "You're hurt but you just need to rest and recover. Just like we always do, cher. I will be here for you."

Camille hummed her reply. "Maman…Richard...Fidel...Dwayne…are they okay?" she continued haltingly. "I failed…I failed to get the guy…he musn't get away…he's dangerous…"

"Cher, it’s alright. They're fine," Catherine soothed. "Just sleep. You'll see them soon. Just sleep." This time Camille didn't answer. Richard didn't hear her anymore only Catherine sobbing softly in the background. 

He couldn't imagine the pain and anxiety Catherine must be feeling, seeing her daughter in a hospital bed like this, and his thoughts went to his own mother. She would likely feel the same way as Catherine if he was on that hospital bed, injured and broken. He tried to dissuade his brain from going there. He couldn’t seem to reconcile the fact that despite their apparent Englishness, the English were humans, too. 

He felt guilt creeping in. How could this happen in his watch? He was supposed to protect them, protect her. He was supposed to have come up with fool-proof ways for the arrest to go smoothly, covering every bases, every possible scenarios. He closed his eyes to will the onset of a massive headache. 

From this moment of respite, his thoughts went to Camille, who despite being injured, managed to think of her family, friends and her duty above herself. But he wanted to berate her for not thinking of herself first. He felt an urgent need to see her, to see for himself if she was truly going to be alright, but the presence of Catherine in the room stopped him from acting on it. 

"How is she doing, Inspector?" Commissioner Patterson's voice cut into his thoughts. He spun around to meet his boss, who was looking grim and serious. 

"Sir," he acknowledged. "The doctor said she's out of danger. But they will continue to monitor her condition until the time they see fit to discharge her." He suddenly felt uncomfortable addressing his boss without his tie and jacket on. He shuffled on his feet a little.

"I see. And Catherine?" the Commissioner asked, never missing a beat. 

"She's already inside, sir," Richard replied, indicating the doorway to Camille's room. 

"Have you gone in to see her?" was the commissioner's next question. Richard shook his head. "I, um, I'll do it later, sir. Catherine needs to be with her first. For now, I'll go check on how our suspect is doing. We've brought him here for treatment, as well."

“I see,” the Commissioner nodded in understanding. "Is the suspect injured?"

Richard was taken aback by the question but he managed to recall a few details he had seen when him and Fidel were taking down the perp. “Ah, he’s got a broken nose and he was also bleeding from the side of his head. I saw him limp but I’m not sure if that was dealt by Camille. But I haven’t gotten an official report of all his injuries, sir.  So, I don’t have much to tell you about it.”

“He is alive when he got here, is he not?” again with the not-so-typical question coming from the Commissioner. “Yes, sir, most definitely,” Richard answered, still puzzled at the old man’s demeanour.

“I know it would seem unprofessional and conduct unbecoming of me to hope that this suspect has received more injuries than were necessary. Professionally, I should care. But personally, I find it hard to contain my anger at this lowlife who had the audacity to harm one of our own,” confided the Commissioner. 

“So Inspector, I do mean business when I say, you had better nail this criminal on the wall and build a solid case that will put him away for a long time,” he continued as he looked at Richard with brown eyes reflecting barely contained rage. “As for the Guadeloupe police, don't let them bother you. They will wait until I say otherwise. Due to their incompetence in apprehending this suspect on their island, one of my best officers, and my personal friend’s daughter, was injured. If they come at me with jurisdiction issues, I will make them sorry they had asked us for help in the first place.”

“Yes, sir,” was all Richard could say after the Commissioner’s rant. “My team and I will do our best.”

“Good. Keep me informed.” With a small nod, the Commissioner made his way to Camille’s room. Richard stood motionless and a bit stupefied. This was another side of the Commissioner he hadn’t seen before. He knew that the sly, old man seemed callous and quite demanding of his team sometimes, but when it came down to it, the Commissioner could be quite protective and caring when they needed him the most. And Richard would make sure to keep his word to him no matter what.

 

* * *


	4. Assuaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The word courage comes from the French word coeur, which means “heart.” When you go ahead and do something despite the fear you feel, courage arises from within your heart." —by Rhonda Byrne, Hero.
> 
> This quote has nothing to do with the chapter but everything to do with what happened recently and what continues to happen in the world right now. Be courageous, be kind, be the epitome of love and light. Our world is in dire need of a lot of those.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. :)

* * *

Richard went out to the nurses’ station to inquire about their prisoner. He saw Dwayne in the corner of his eye, approaching him. 

"Chief," Dwayne nodded. "Any news on Camille's condition?"

"She's going to be alright. They will keep her here to monitor her head injury. But other than that, she'll be fine. A bit of recovery and such," Richard tried hard not to look overly relieved but his voice betrayed him. "Yes, she’ll be fine. Um, Catherine and the Commissioner are with her now ."

Dwayne, on the other hand, had no intention of reining in his emotions. "That's very good news, Chief,” Dwayne said, teary-eyed. “ Very good news. She's quite the strong one, isn’t she? I knew she’ll pull through. Fidel would be happy to know she's out of danger, too. That boy has been anxious like a coiled spring all day,” he chuckled a little. 

Richard just nodded, not really looking at him. He was afraid that if he did, Dwayne would see tears of relief dancing on the edges of his green eyes. “Well, we all are, Dwayne...just coiled springs and such, yes.” He casually placed a hand over his forehead as if to massage it but ever so quickly ran it down his face to wipe any wayward tear that might have escaped.

Dwayne pretended he saw nothing. It was rare for his Chief to show emotion and it was a privilege to see it just a little. But he decided to save both of them the embarrassment. “By the way, Chief, our prisoner is still in recovery and hasn't woken up yet. If you ask me, he's forcing himself to remain asleep so we can't interrogate him."

Richard resisted the urge to pointedly correct Dwayne's assumption. He knew Dwayne wasn't offering something implausible, he just tended to exaggerate to point out an obvious fact. "What does the toxicology report say? What did he take?"

"A combination of peace pill, crack and super grass. But it looks like he’s downed a lot of peace pill that's why he had gone and transformed into a raging gorilla," Dwayne explained. “I’m surprised he didn’t drop dead.”

Richard looked at him in confusion and this time he couldn't help being slightly annoyed, "Dwayne, will you please just tell me the official name of the drug…" 

"Oh sorry, Chief, it's called PCP," Dwayne said, clearly apologetic at using the street names of the illegal drugs. 

"Phencyclidine, that explains the eye movement, the drooling, the excessive sweating, hostility and not to mention the increased strength," Richard surmised, pacing on the floor. 

"Also one of the witnesses who were there when Camille tried to subdue him said he saw our suspect popped one or two tablets and went totally mental, trying to attack people with a pipe. Camille had to intervene before anyone got seriously hurt," Dwayne added. "It seemed unbelievable that the guy didn't even feel pain from his broken nose or kneecaps. Camille had no luck subduing him given that advantage." Dwayne shook his head, feeling regret at the fact he wasn't there to help his fellow officers bring the suspect down.

"She's not unlucky," Richard said, agitation welling inside him. "This could have been prevented if I saw it coming. I was too complacent that it would all be a simple arrest, no complications, no threats to public safety or to ours. But I completely missed that and look what happened." He couldn't help it, he just let his guilt slip without him being aware of it. Dwayne looked at him, unsmiling.

"Chief, don't put all this on yourself. You can't foresee the future. Even if we went out there fully prepared to deal with the suspects, we still wouldn’t know what other things could have gone wrong. So don't feel this guilt, I know you feel responsible because you're our senior officer,” said Dwayne, his voice teetering on the edge of a reprimand. 

“But as a friend, I'm telling you now, it's not your fault or anyone's fault. We just have to deal with the situation as it happens like what Camille did. She made a decision as a police officer and that is to serve and to protect. So don't be too hard on yourself. The last thing we need is a Chief of Police paralyzed with what-could-have-beens," Dwayne said in a serious tone. 

Richard mulled this over. He had seldom heard Dwayne talking seriously about anything. But here he was, giving him his version of a pep talk. ‘Christ, I must have sounded and looked so dejected,’ he thought. "I'm sorry, Dwayne. I understand what you mean. It's just that Camille…she's…" He suddenly felt unable to express what he had in his mind and heart.

But he didn't need to, Dwayne fully understood."Chief, I know you're worried about her. We all are," he smiled. "If the situation is reversed, you on that hospital bed instead of her, she'll most likely be as guilty and as worried as you. But you of all people should know that it will not stop her from doing her job. We've seen how she worked when Aimee died. It was a tough time for her but she admirably carried on. Isn't that an expression you British like to say, ‘keep calm and carry on?’" This time Dwayne allowed himself to be cheeky to lighten the mood a little. 

Richard quirked his lips into a small curve, he could always count on Dwayne to be quite brazen. But he did have a point, if Camille was in his shoes, she would really carry on no matter what. Now, the real need to see her was needling at him. But they still have work to do. "Right, Dwayne, is the other suspect locked securely in our cells?"

"Yes, Chief. Though that guy didn't want to talk. He said he didn't want to make his offenses worse than they already are and that he has nothing to do with the gorilla," Dwayne said. "My Guadeloupe police contact faxed us the rap sheets for the two and their outstanding warrants of arrest. He said the higher-ups over there wanted us to hand them over as soon as possible."

Richard sighed, as much as he wanted to get those two off the island right away, procedure had to be followed and paperwork had to be filed so that all the charges would stick and the bastards put away for a long time. He rubbed his temple.

"Yeah, well, they would have to wait. I need to make sure all our evidence are solid and that these guys get the maximum jail time they deserve. Especially that nasty one who attacked Camille. He needs to be off the street for good. I want a bulletproof case tag on his outstanding offenses like resisting arrest, assaulting and attempted murder of a police officer and use of illegal drugs. We will let him know he chose the wrong team to mess with."

Seeing the hard look on Richard's face surprised Dwayne. He had never seen him with such a face before. But he knew that his Chief of Police had a soft spot for Camille, a fact that he tried to hide from the rest of the team. If Dwayne was feeling mischievous, he would guess the Inspector 'had the hots' for his detective sergeant. Not that it was any of his business really. 

But he could understand Richard's feelings very well. He, himself, wanted to pummel the guy to the ground but he had to control himself. Camille wouldn't want him to do that. She wouldn't want their Chief to be affected and lose his edge in solving crimes either.

"I think the gorilla won't go anywhere anytime soon. It may take him a while to recover from the immediate effects of the drug he's taken and from his non-life threatening injuries, which have temporarily incapacitated him," Dwayne offered. 

"That reminds me Dwayne, I need you and Fidel to gather and interview as many witnesses to what happened between the suspect and Camille. We'll have to make sure that every thing is properly documented so that this guy can't use 'police brutality' as a get-out-of-jail card or as a plea for a lighter sentence. I've already talked to the doctor attending to Camille and he'll be handing us a detailed report of her injuries," Richard said, pacing back and forth, willing himself to think. "I hope I'm not missing anything…I might…"

"Chief," said Dwayne gently. "Did you have anything to eat or drink today?" Richard shook his head confused as to where this was going. "I guess you also missed your tea time. Am I right?” 

"I don't see how this has got to do with anything that's needed to be done…We…" Richard had become impatient now but Dwayne held up his hand. "Clearly, Chief, you need a tea break. As in right now. See, down this hall is the cafeteria. They have tea, although it may not measure up to your taste, I think it will do for now and maybe you could also have a scone or a biscuit with it. Or, I could also drive you down to your place so you can, uh," Dwayne looked at his disheveled shirt. "Freshen up a bit. You know, so you'll have a fresh mind to tackle things."

Richard just shrugged and was hesitant: "Well, that's good…but I haven't…um…" He gave a quick look in the direction of Camille's room. He really wanted to see her or he won't be able to focus on anything. Dwayne was again quick on the uptake. "I see, you haven't seen Camille." It was a statement instead of a question. 

"Well, you know, Catherine is there and I don't want to intrude on their privacy. I figured I'd just wait," Richard shrugged again. "How about you? Were you able to see her?" Dwayne nodded. "I did briefly before I went looking for you. I wasn't there when Camille got hurt so I've been worried since the arrest. In my years as a police officer for Honore, we haven't had something this severe. Sure a scuffle or maybe a punch or two, but a pull-on attack on a police officer is unheard of," he explained, still finding it unbelievable such a thing happened in his time. 

"This is why we don't even carry a baton around. It's not our way. But see, you had insight and told us we should bring something to defend ourselves just in case, which probably saved Camille in many ways," he pointed out. "Although, I'm now regretting that we didn't bring the taser along."

"I don't know if it would make any difference," Richard reassured him, the incredible image of the suspect's almost inhuman strength came to his mind. "Even if we tased him a couple of times, we would still need the help of bystanders just to keep him down. His stamina was overwhelming and relentless. Besides, like you said, that's not our way."

Dwayne smiled at this statement. He sensed Richard had come along way from hating the island to actually being at ease enough to say he was part of the team's way, the island's way. "But Chief, you really need your tea break. Go on and get some, you can visit Camille later. I'll be taking over Fidel's shift guarding the gorilla. He plans to ask Catherine if she wants a ride back home to get essentials since she left La Kaz in a hurry and then drop her back here before he goes home. You'll have your time then," Dwayne winked knowingly. 

Richard let out a small chuckle in embarrassment. "You guys seemed to have thought of everything, while I felt like a chicken running around with its head cut off." 

"Ah but Chief, isn't our way to pick up the slack if one or two members of the team needed support? Right now, Camille is our priority so we'll all pick up the slack and look out for each other. If we are to put that gorilla away for a long time we need to be in tip-top shape," said Dwayne.

Richard just nodded. He never thought that he would value a team, his team, this much in the course of his professional life as a detective inspector. But here it was, the very epitome of camaraderie, trust, respect and loyalty that he had always longed for when he was at the Met. He knew the presence of Dwayne and Fidel had kept him centered in this ordeal. 

If he had been alone dealing with what happened to Camille, he probably wouldn’t be able to cope as well as he was coping now. It was thanks to them that he could divide the worry and grief and put it on their shoulders without any hesitation, shame or regret. 

 “Here, how about a man hug?” said Dwayne, suddenly disrupting Richard’s introspection. He had his arms wide open and a teasing smile plastered on his face. He didn’t think his Chief would fall for it given how ‘allergic’ the Englishman was to physical contact. He was just trying to force Richard to go on a tea break soon.

Richard looked at him in horror, both arms stuck frozen by his side and his stance showed he was ready to move way back if Dwayne made good his hug. “I’m...I’m fine. Really. No need for...” he said when he quickly found his voice to discourage Dwayne from the act. “...a man-hug.” He grimaced at the word.

“I was joking. I knew you wouldn’t go for it,” Dwayne chuckled. “You’re just taking too long to decide to go for your tea break. I figured you need some sort of motivation.”

"Well, no, that’s not motivating at all. Quite frankly it’s mortifying,” Richard quickly pointed out. “I guess I'm a bit parched, so a warm cup of tea would do me good even if it's still sweltering outside,” he finally declared. “Thanks, Dwayne. You can go and relieve Fidel. I'm sure he's eager to go back home and be with his family. I feel relieved that you, too, are not injured, that takes a little bit off my worries."

"Nothing to it, Chief. Go on and have yourself a cup of tea. I'll tell Fidel that you'll be in the cafeteria so he can inform you when he and Catherine leave," Dwayne reassured him. “I’ll also check on the status of the gorilla for you.”

He was about to walk off when Richard called after him, “Um, Dwayne, please refrain from referring to the suspect as a gorilla. Mr. Lamotte has a name.”

Dwayne turned around and gave him a look, “Sure thing, Chief. I won’t call him that to his face. But I can’t guarantee I’ll remember his name when our team discuss about him, okay?”

It was Richard’s turn to give him a look. But he just shook his head at Dwayne’s rather impudent attitude, which was so like Camille’s at times. He suddenly paused at this thought. He felt his heart ache. Truth be told, he was getting impatient to see her, it was as if his every movement reflected this need so badly. And it was driving him crazy. 

If he had half the courage she had, he would have barged in her room even if Catherine and the Commissioner were there. But his innate reserve and reticence always held him back, so he just had to settle for waiting until everyone else was out of sight for his visit. He felt a bit better with this plan as he finally made his way toward the hospital cafeteria.

 

* * *

 

 


	5. Recollected

* * *

 

Richard took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This had been a stressful day. A lot had happened and he felt like a spring coil that had been wound up tightly. But now that the doctor said Camille would be alright, he could let go a little. He strode toward the cafeteria intent on drinking tea and maybe get a chocolate bar. 

The hospital cafeteria was quiet. It was nearing late afternoon so visitors and patients were slowly petering out. Richard sat himself in one of the empty tables, overlooking the sea outside. He nursed a polystyrene cup of tea in his hands. He wished he had a book to distract him from the wait. 

He contemplated on going back to the station to start the paperwork, but he knew that he won't be able to focus on them until he saw Camille. He really wanted to see her, he knew she was no longer in immediate danger but he felt an utter need to look at her with his own eyes and perhaps, hold her hand. He just wanted some physical evidence to alleviate the still nagging worry in his heart. 

He was still wracked with guilt. If he had done things differently, maybe she wouldn't have gotten so hurt this badly. He recalled how their morning started at the station. Everyone gathered bright and early for a briefing on the task they were about to undertake. Two wanted felons had eluded arrest in Guadeloupe and the authorities over there had asked the Honore Police Station for help. 

Richard wasn't too happy about it. For one thing, the request was done on such short notice it reflected inconsideration on the part of Guadeloupe police. For another, he simply hated to be cleaning up after other police station's ineptitude. But in the spirit of cooperation, as the Commissioner put it, he had no choice but to let his team carry out their duty.  

"Right, it's 7 o’clock. Per Guadeloupe police’s intel last night, the suspects will definitely be on the ferry to Saint Marie on the very first morning schedule. Fidel, have they sent over the arrest warrants and rap sheets for these wanted men?" Richard asked.

"Not yet, sir, I've called and they said their network is down, but they'll email them to us as soon as it goes back up," Fidel explained.

"Why can't they just use the fax then? If the network doesn't work, they don't have to wait for it to get fixed, just look for an alternative for Christ's sake. Don't they know that we need all the information we can get to successfully apprehend these suspects? Really, twisting our arm to get us to help them on such short notice and then leaving us in the dark. It explains why they didn't do a better job at catching the suspects themselves. Probably waiting for things to get bloody fixed!" Richard ranted.

The rest of his team just looked at each other. They were already familiar with Richard's full-on rant mode so it wasn't anything new. Plus, they could understand why he was miffed.

"Sir, we just have to make do of the initial info they gave us last night," Camille said, pacifying Richard right away. She always had a knack for taking him back on an even keel after his rant. "It says here, these two men are being charged with drug dealing, battery and assault."

"Precisely, I'm a bit worried about that last charge. We don't have intel whether these suspects would bring weapons with them. Guns, knives, machetes, what kind of weapon do we have to deal with if these two arrive on Saint Marie?" Richard mulled this over, brows knitted in hard concentration. Apart from public safety, he was also thinking about his team's safety. 

"We do have weapons here, Chief," Dwayne said. "But we don't see the need to use them on the island. It's just here because it's regulation to have a cache. Like I said, we don't have the occasion to use them. Would you like us to carry weapons then?"

"I know what you mean, Dwayne. But we can't be walking around carrying weapons in plain sight. I think it will just urge these criminals to put up a fight and I don't want that to happen in a very crowded ferry terminal. Whatever they may be carrying, we have to proceed with caution though," said Richard.

"In that case, we should not alert them of any police presence when the ferry arrives. Dwayne and Fidel, you guys, shouldn't be in uniforms when we go to the dock,” said Camille thoughtfully. “It would be easier for you two to move around the crowd in plain clothes. This way, we won't attract attention and we could take them by surprise.”

"That's a good idea, Camille," Richard said distractedly as he started thinking of other things they needed to cover for the arrest to go smoothly. "Um, sir, you, too, need to change," she shot back in a matter-of-fact tone. He looked at her as if she had grown two heads. "I think I look perfectly fine dressed this way. It's not like I’m announcing to the world that I’m the Chief of Police, right?" he asked and glanced at Dwayne and Fidel for support.

Camille just rolled her eyes. "In a woolen suit? No, not really. I mean everyone around here are dressed for the climate and the tourists even more so. Yeah if we're looking to be inconspicuous, we let the Chief of Police roam the docks in a suit. We might as well get out there holding up placards saying, 'This is Honore Police. Give yourselves up this way.’" Her sarcasm was palpable and Richard became quite fidgety. Dwayne and Fidel tried hard not to smile in amusement, but failing miserably. He glared at them in reproach. 

"I don't see why I couldn't make an arrest without standing out even in my suit," he said stubbornly. He could feel the beginning on an argument but he hoped Camille would just drop the whole thing altogether. Instead, she gave him a look, THE look, that meant she was going to stand her ground on this one and he really didn't want to butt heads with her this early in the morning. So for the time being, he acted like the bigger person and suggested a compromise. "Alright, I see what you mean. How about I leave my tie and unbutton my shirt?"

"How about you take both the tie and the jacket off," Camille persisted. "Look, I'm not asking you to change into a flowery shirt and Bermuda shorts to totally blend in among the tourists. I just want you to not stand out so the perps won't suspect anything."

Richard contemplated this suggestion grimly. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if making a very difficult decision. He still couldn't bring himself to agree easily. God, Camille always made his life complicated all the time with her stubborn demands. But he saw the logic of her suggestion. If they were to get this arrest over and done with, they mustn't give the suspects the advantage. 

"Well?" Camille cut through his thought process rather impatiently. He desperately resisted the urge to throw a full-on tantrum again. "Alright, alright!" he said irritatedly. He wouldn't admit it outright, but he knew she had a point. He took off his tie and jacket and undid a few buttons on his shirt. ‘Oh why not do the full hog,’ he thought with annoyance  evident on his face and continued to roll up his sleeves as well. "You guys better make sure we catch these suspects. Or else, I'll be thoroughly cross after walking around town looking like…this."

His team let out an audible sigh of relief and a brief snicker for good measure. Richard just shook his head at them in resignation. Then he remembered something. "Um, I know we outnumber the suspects. There are only two of them and four of us. But if they carry concealed weapons, we're at a disadvantage, especially if they have powerful semi-automatics," he tried not to think about that scenario but he need to cover all possible situations that would put his team and the public in danger. 

"Well, Chief, I've got a few contacts on Guadeloupe police and what I gathered is that these are not THAT type of criminals. Just low-levels trying to earn quick money. They would be hard pressed to get semis anywhere if they don’t have the big cash. Besides, my contact said there's no illegal weapons charges brought on them in their rap sheets. Of course, it doesn't mean they won't be packing something given that they know the police are looking for them," Dwayne explained. 

"Dwayne, why don't you get your contacts to send us those rap sheets. If we wait for the official channel, things would just be too late," Richard said. "Don't worry Chief. I'm already on it," Dwayne swiftly answered. 

"I still think we should be prepared without necessarily carrying guns. We don't want a shoot out on a crowded dock. It's just too risky especially with suspects on the run like this. It might trigger their fight or flight reaction. We could end up with multiple shooting victims," said Richard, pacing on the floor again.

"Sir, how about we carry our collapsible batons," suggested Fidel helpfully. "Those are easy to use and easy to conceal. No one would really know we have those on our person."

"That's a brilliant idea, Fidel," he said rather enthusiastically. "I'm assuming you all had training with using the baton. I mean, they test you on the use of these weapons yearly." Every one on his team nodded. "Alright, we'll head to the dock in half an hour just to mill about unobserved. We need radios so we can better coordinate our positions and if any one of us spotted the suspects."

Fidel started taking out the collapsible batons from a padlocked locker, while Dwayne busied himself, calling his contacts in Guadeloupe to expedite their rap sheet request. Meanwhile, Camille started taking out the clunky, boxy walkie-talkies they have out of a desk drawer. 

Richard walked over to her and remarked, "This is the only time I wish we have those earpieces worn by secret service agents. These look like bricks and they weigh a freaking ton. So much for being inconspicuous."

Camille raised an eyebrow and replied teasingly, "Oh. I didn't know you dream of being an agent, sir?" He gave her one of his looks that said, 'don't even go there.’ Of course, the meaning was lost to her altogether. Sometimes, he asked himself why he even bothered. "No. But this would really reveal our intention. Don't you think?"

"I don't like them either. They're too bulky. But the alternative would be to have one of us keep an eye on each other's position, while the other keeps a look out for the suspects. Then we'll just have to use whistles or hand signals to indicate if we found our targets or not. That's really not an effective method," Camille said, sighing. "So we just have to make do with these." She handed one walkie-talkie to Richard.

It was the second time Richard gave her a look as if she had grown two heads. "Well, I can't possibly put them in my jean pockets," Camille said nonchalantly as she gestured down the lower half of her body. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans so slim it hugged her hips and made her legs look a million miles long. 

Richard resisted the urge to gulp audibly. He knew that an immediate flush went up his face so he attempted to adjust his tie—a defense mechanism whenever he felt flustered. But alas, there was no tie to adjust. 'Bollocks!' he berated himself. He forgot that he already discarded the damn thing earlier. "Yes, of course," he said abruptly, snatching the walkie-talkie off her hand and walking back to his desk. Camille puckered her lips to keep herself from smiling mischievously. 

Meanwhile, Richard sat on his desk feeling all conscious and awkward without his jacket and tie. He stole a glance at Camille who was busy tidying up her desk. He was secretly thankful that she had dressed sensibly. Her impossibly tight jeans were paired with a bright yellow, short-sleeved, collared cotton shirt that covered her usually bare shoulders. Completing her ensemble were a pair of unobtrusive combat boots, which he had never seen her wear before. 

For a minute, he felt the need to point out to her that her bright yellow shirt would not really obscure her from the crowd no more than his woolen suit would. But he thought better of it. He didn't want to deal with her feisty attitude. He just wanted a few seconds of peace as he gaze at her unobserved.

"Sir, I think it's about time we head on over to the dock," Fidel cut into his thoughts. "Sir?" Richard looked at him startled. "Sorry, I was just going through last minute things in my head," he lied through his teeth. "Right, let's move out then." 

Dwayne and Fidel had already changed into plain clothes and headed toward the Enfield downstairs. Camille handed him a collapsible baton before she walked out the door. She looked at him with concern. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, looking back at him. "No, nothing," he replied rather dismissively as he pocketed the baton and picked up the walkie talkie. 

He looked around to see if there was anything he wanted to bring at the last minute—his leather bag, his jacket or his tie. In the end, he decided to leave everything behind and headed out the veranda where Camille was waiting for him.

"What?" he asked a bit grumpily. Camille shook her head as she watched him lock up. "Everything's gonna be fine. You'll see," she finally said as they headed down the steps to the parked Defender. He nodded at her in acknowledgment and said without thinking, "Just stay close to me." 

Camille stopped in her tracks and furrowed her brows as she glanced at him. But it seemed Richard was too distracted to realize what he said to her. He was about to go to the passenger side of the Defender when Camille tapped him on his arm to get his attention. He turned to her with an enquiring look. 

She didn't say a word but reached up to straighten one of his folded collar. She gave him a brief encouraging pat and for one fleeting moment, their eyes met. She nodded as she patted him again. His breath hitched a little at her touch as he mumbled his thanks. He quickly got into the vehicle and they drove away in silence.

It was agreed during the briefing that they would park the Defender and Enfield away from the unloading area to avoid alerting the suspects to police presence. It was also agreed that they would keep radio communication to a minimum so they won't attract attention to themselves as they wait. 

Richard instructed Dwayne and Fidel to stay near the dock area to get a better view of the disembarking passengers, whilst he and Camille sat among the incoming passengers going to Guadeloupe. It gave them a vantage point of the one exit where those arriving into the island went through. Richard sat with his arms folded tightly close to him, he knew if he didn't he would just fidget in nervous anticipation. He was trying not to be obvious as he roamed his eyes this way and that. Camille elbowed him discreetly and mouthed: "Relax!" He shrugged his shoulders in response.

Then there was a commotion near the docking area. People screamed. The radio in Richard's pocket crackled to life. "Chief, one of the suspects is heading your way!" It was Dwayne. 

Camille jumped up suddenly preparing to intercept as she snap pointed to Richard to cover the other end of the exit. He nodded and scanned the area immediately. Surely, this perp won't be running at top speed, right? It would just attract attention. So he remained calm and looked at every face coming into his view. 

Then he heard a long whistle. He recognized it as Camille's, the one she used to get the bickering family of a murdered landowner in line. He looked in her direction, she was pointing at the back of someone she was quietly following. He spotted where she was pointing at and his eyes landed on a rather muscular man, a few inches taller than him with a subtly menacing face. 

Richard recognized him immediately from the photo sent by Guadeloupe police last night. The man was walking leisurely toward the exit probably to avoid unwarranted attention. Richard was elated that his theory was proven correct and this suspect decided to act normal like he was part of the crowd. 

He thought the best way to approach the suspect was head on and see how he would react. He would probably hesitate to runaway if confronted directly, thought Richard. So he simply walked up to the man with his warrant card held up, "Mr. Thomas Lamotte, I presume." The man looked at his warrant card, smirked and made to attack Richard. But Camille caught his wrist, twisted it sharply and brought him bodily to the ground. She drove her knee down on him to lock the arm she was holding. "Police!" she said icily. "Don't move."

"Whoa, whoa. I wasn't going to resist," the man said. "I was just surprised. I mean who wouldn't be when some dude with a funny accent shove a card up to your face. It's disrespectful, you know." He was trying to look at Richard. "But hey, if all police officers are as hot and sexy as this, I wouldn't mind being locked up." This time, he leered at Camille. "You can come and 'arrest' me anytime you want, Officer Bootylicious."   

Richard kneeled next to Camille, ready to place the handcuffs on the suspect. He was trying very hard to maintain a professional facade on his face through gritted teeth. He didn't like the way this perp was talking to his DS. 

Camille, on the other hand, remained stoic and impassive. She gave him a small eye roll to indicate her displeasure but other than that, she didn't say anything. They both pulled the suspect up on his feet to handcuff his hands behind his back more securely. 

"Hey, old man, could you just let Ms. Sweet-Cheeks over there put the handcuffs on me. I just love women of authority. Hey, I bet you're one feisty dominatrix. Oh I would love to get me some of that. Sneak in the cells and we'll make hot passionate love together. What do you say? I would really love to get my hands on your…"

"That's enough!" Richard shouted in the man's ear. He should have brought duct tape with them so he could wrap it on this suspect's mouth and all around his head and just leave enough space for his nostrils. 

He was clearly going too far with his verbal assaults on Camille and it was making him angry. He reached for the man's other arm to place it in handcuffs. But as he did so, the man bodily shoved him, causing him to lose balance and fall. The handcuffs came flying as the man ran toward the town streets. Camille chased after him while Richard scrambled to get to his feet and ran after her.

"Fidel!" he shouted to the young officer who was hurriedly picking his way through the crowd of people. "Follow Camille! The suspect is getting away." Fidel didn't waste time, he legged after Camille and the suspect, who were still within eyeshot. Richard struggled to keep up behind him, pride and worry spurring him on. Little did he know the horrifying scene that awaited them.

 

* * *

 


	6. Bewildered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed like there's nothing much happening in my story. I get antsy when there seemed to be nothing much to glean from this chapter. Then I feel guilty for not writing something longer. Ah the travails of writing fanfiction. One would think we have it easier since the characters are already established, the setting already set, but it's still difficult. Right now, this story seemed to be going to a certain direction that I have not intended and it's disconcerting. Where will it lead me? Will I like it? Only time will tell...MUAHAHAHAH.(Oppss, sorry I've gone momentarily mental on that one...)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the comments, feedback and kudos. I really appreciate it. :)

* * *

 

“Just stay close to me.” These were his words to Camille before they drove to the dock. Richard remembered it clearly, he just pretended he was too distracted to mind what was coming out of his mouth. He was secretly grateful that she didn’t seem to notice or react to what he said then. 

He knew if she called him on it he would have to take it back or make some excuse to qualify the statement. He would have been flustered or embarrassed to high heavens and it was the last thing he wanted, especially since he didn’t have either his tie or jacket to shield him from further humiliation

But he meant every word. He didn’t know why he found himself anxious about the arrest. It wasn’t like his team haven’t done something like it. They faced worse murderers before, so this was supposed to be a piece of cake. Yet he couldn’t help the feeling of unease nagging at him.

Of course, he couldn’t confide this to Camille, mostly because that would be admitting he had a bad ‘feeling’ or a ‘hunch’ about the whole thing. He so loathed to give her that ammunition. He could just imagine her teasing being relentless and unmerciful. He would rue the day that Richard Poole would believe in a feeling. So he thought it best to keep it to himself. 

Truth be told, he wanted her to stay close to him out of sheer protectiveness and selfishness on his part. For while he truly believed she could capably defend herself, deep down he didn’t want anything to happen to her. He could handle a few minor scrapes or scratches or of being verbally attacked. But thinking of other worse injuries that may befall her made him sick to his stomach. His fear for her grew exponentially at the thought.  

‘This is ridiculous,’ he chided himself as he sat stiffly on the passenger seat of the Defender. ‘She’s a very capable detective sergeant. She trained in Paris and graduated top of her class. I’m very sure she could beat me in a fist fight and any criminal low-life for that matter. So there’s nothing to worry about.’ 

He stole a furtive glance at Camille. She was driving in silence, which was clearly a departure from her norm. He hoped she would listen to her if things get out of hand but he knew she had a mind of her own and would probably do what her instincts would tell her. ‘Maybe I should just order her to stay at the station and man the fort,’ he thought seriously.

But Richard knew that kind of order wouldn’t go down well with her and he would be vehemently accused of gender discrimination or worse, of being a male chauvinist pig. If only he had a crystal ball to gain insight on what was going to happen or what he and his team could expect. ‘Christ, I’m now turning into a superstitious git,’ he thought in horror. 

He searched his brain for a rational explanation to what he was ‘feeling’. The light bulb moment came when he finally realized why he was so antsy about the whole thing. ‘Those damn Guadeloupe police! It’s because I don’t have enough information to get a better grasp of the situation that I’m feeling a bit off!’ 

Richard always prided himself of being prepared when it came to solving crimes. He could glean even the smallest of details from a mountain of information made available to him. And the same could be said whenever he lead teams to do other police tasks.

But this time, he was feeling ill-prepared because of the lack of information and it was making him worried for his team’s safety. They barely had information about the suspects, not enough to even form profiles of their behaviour or motivation. He didn’t like going at this blindly, especially if wanted felons were concerned.

He massaged him temple absentmindedly. A part of him was urging him to treat this like any ordinary police work, but his meticulous self couldn’t let it go. He hated not being in control but what he hated more was that his emotions were getting the better of him. He couldn’t deny the fact that his worry for Camille was beginning to go beyond professional. He knew he cared for her too much. He was just good at repressing it.

The thought was beginning to irritate him and he mentally shook himself again. He prevented an audible sigh from escaping his lips and made to button one of his shirt sleeves but found out he had rolled the sleeve up earlier. ‘Bugger!’ he muttered under his breath.

Camille stifled a giggle when she caught him in the act. “You didn’t have to roll them up, you know,” she said, smiling. 

“Yeah, well, I figured why not try a whole new look today,” Richard replied, biting sarcasm as he fidgeted with a sleeve and thinking if he should just unroll the sleeves back. “Give the whole island a glimpse of what Richard Poole could be like when he’s capable of...” he made the air quote gesture, “...liming.”

“Hardly,” Camille stated quickly without looking at him. “But to be frank, you’re quite handsome in that new look. I like it.” He looked back at her, mouth agape in disbelief as he felt an oncoming blush creeping up his face.

“You know, like Detective Steve McGarrett of Hawaii-Five O,” she said quite enthusiastically and then quipped, “Um, you are familiar with Hawaii-Five O, right? I mean, it’s a very popular American TV show about police detectives working on a tropical island. Kind of like us.”

Richard, who hated watching any TV show remotely American, suppressed his ignorance this time around. He felt pleased to see Camille happy with his look even if she had coerced him into it. He recalled coming across the Hawaii-Five O TV series on youtube once when he desperately wanted to watch Antiques Roadshow or the Great British Bake Off.  

The detectives on the series were good-looking chaps, too good looking to be realistic detectives though, he thought drily. It was why he didn’t like American TV that much. But he secretly relished the idea that Camille thought he looked like one of those guys albeit that Detective McGarrett had more hair than him. 

His mouth quirk into a shy smile as he stuttered, “Of course, um, I’m vaguely familiar with it.”

Camille gave him a doubtful look to which he answered with a huff. “I’m not a dinosaur, Camille! I know what Hawaii-Five O is and that very catchy, annoying intro theme!” He winced as the initial notes of the tune came to mind, the rapid drumming followed by the blaring of the horns and the appearance of a bikini-clad woman on the surf...he shook his head vigorously. It was not the kind of song he wanted in his head while they were on the way to apprehend wanted criminals.

“I know. It’s quite popular back then. I used to watch the re-runs with my father when I was little. Although, I couldn’t figure out why they had to wear suits and ties on a tropical island.” Realising that she said more than she should, Camille resolutely kept her eyes on the road in front of her. “In any case, you looked more relaxed than you’ve ever been with that new look.” She allowed a small, hidden grin to escape from her lips.

Richard didn’t miss any of her movements. “Well...I felt a bit awkward looking this way at first but I guess, it has the added advantage of being comfortable in this heat. Actually, you know, um, I could get used to...”

His voice trailed off as he analysed what Camille said. Did she say the Hawaii Five-O detectives wore suits and ties? Were they talking about the same TV series? He surreptitiously got out his phone and tapped on google. He speedread through the info as a frown slowly graced his face. 

He came to a certain realisation, which was confirmed by Camille’s barely holding-it-together-giggling. “That’s totally underhanded, Detective Sergeant!” He shook his head in consternation as he crossed his arms around his chest. “You were trying to flatter me with an American TV series from the 1960s?!” 

Camille was giggling openly now and it took her a while to settle down. “What? Is there a recent remake I don’t know about?” she asked, feigning innocence. She glanced at the indignation reflected on Richard’s face and felt a little guilty. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you look so tense and distracted when we left the station. I just had to snap you out of it.”

“At my own expense, apparently,” Richard retorted, his earlier elation replaced by his signature grousing. “And what is wrong with wearing a suit and tie on a tropical island? Pray tell.” Camille was about to retort an answer when he held out a hand to stop her. “Nevermind!”

“But you were being grumpy,” Camille reminded him in a playful but gentle tone as she gave his arm a brief, light squeeze. Richard just shrugged, still a bit slighted at her teasing. She smiled, thinking how endearing he looked as he sulked. 

“Alright, I’m sorry,” said Camille finally looking contrite as she parked the Defender on one of the side streets near the docks, just behind the Enfield. She turned to Richard, looked him in the eye and said with apparent seriousness, “But I really do love it. You should do it more often. That look, I mean.” This time, she gave him a genuine, shy smile that made his insides lurch.

Richard gazed at her, mouth gaping as it wont to do when he was on the receiving end of this Camille — mischievous, alluring yet at the same time thoughtful, compassionate and obviously so attuned to his every mood. Just when he thought he understood her a little more, she would go do something that completely flummoxed him.

He sighed and gave her a lopsided grin. He realized he felt much lighter now, more clear-headed and resolute, thanks to Camille’s antics. A sudden memory came to him when they were back at the station, her hand lightly touching his chest, their eyes meeting and her reassuring nod. Yes, it would all be alright as long as she was here with him. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Richard Poole is not the only detective who wears a suit and tie on a tropical island. The group of Hawaii Five-O detectives (first aired in 1968), Steve McGarrett, Danno Williams, Kona Kalakaua and Chin Ho Kelly, all wore suits and ties in the TV series, with the occasional flowery/palm leaves t-shirts seen on some of the members. I got to look at them in action, thanks to youtube. Oh wow, they didn't even break a sweat when they go after perps. It looked like they have built in airconditioners in their suits. LOL. Of course, the 2010 reboot of the series has been modernised so it's no longer as campy. 
> 
> In case you're wondering what Richard was beginning to hear in his head, here it is: https://youtu.be/hwhvByj8YG8  
> May it be your last song syndrome. MUAHAHAHAH. ;-)


	7. Agonized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments, feedback and kudos. Much appreciated! :)
> 
> On another note: December has come. New Christmas in Saint-Marie fanfiction anyone?

* * *

 

All at once the vision of Camille’s wonderful smile was replaced by her lying so still on that cold alley, blood pooling by her head. The reality of his worst nightmare came true. What happened? He stifled a gut-wrenching scream. “Camille!” Suddenly, he felt his world being violently shaken.

“Sir, sir, are you alright?” Fidel’s earnest voice came to his ear as the young officer shook his shoulder. Richard opened his eyes with a start, momentarily disorientated. Where was he? He stared at Fidel, bleary-eyed, his location not yet registering. 

“Sir, you were drinking tea in the hospital cafeteria,” Fidel explained as if he heard Richard’s unuttered question. “You were probably so tired and fell asleep.” He omitted the fact that Richard seemed to be having a bad dream when he heard him whispering Camille’s name in desperation.  

“Fidel,” Richard finally acknowledged the young man when everything clicked inplace in his head. “Yes, I must have dozed off.” He rubbed his face with his hands, hoping he didn’t look too disheveled.  

Fidel looked at his senior officer with concern. He heard from Dwayne that their chief was overusing his brain, being all worried, stressed out and generally overtaxing himself. Dwayne had to practically strong arm him to take a tea break. Fidel could understand, the Inspector was worried about Camille to the point that he was forgetting to care for himself. 

The only time Fidel had seen him this way was when he solved a scuba diver’s murder on his sick bed. He really didn’t want a repeat of that after him and Dwayne secretly received a good dressing down from Camille. He inwardly winced at the prospect of another one of her scoldings if she ever found out they were letting him overtax himself. Again.

“Um, sir, would you like me to take you back to your place, so you could get some proper rest?” Fidel suggested. “I’m taking Catherine back to La Kaz and then bringing her back here before I head home. We could drop you off first.”

“Thank you, Fidel. But I’m fine,” Richard said with a wry smile. He resisted the urge to get cranky. He knew Dwayne and Fidel meant well. But he was beginning to bristle at all their fussing. He really just wanted to be left alone for now. “I’ll worry about getting home later,” he mumbled as he attempted to smooth his tousled hair. 

He stood up and made to button his jacket but he noticed too late that he wasn’t wearing one. “Oh for god’s sake, not again!” he muttered crossly.

“Sir?” Fidel eyed him, clearly surprised by his outburst. Richard held up a hand to reassure him it was nothing to fret about. “Are you and Catherine heading out now?”

“Yes, sir, I’m going to Camille’s room to pick her up,” Fidel replied. He was wondering if his boss would take up his suggestion of going back to the beach shack to rest. 

“Good, I’ll come with you...to meet her,” said Richard, the last bit he added quickly in case Fidel thought he was coming with them. He wanted to stay behind and help look after Camille when her mother goes to La Kaz to get a change of clothes and other essentials. It was the only thing he could offer right now given his cluelessness at showing support and such.

“I’m really glad Camille is safe, sir,” Fidel said with feeling as they walked side by side. He had seen her earlier that day when Richard went to fetch Catherine, giving in to his worry and making sure she wasn’t left alone in her room.

He held her hand and prayed that she would recover from her injuries. “Remember when Aimee died, we both didn’t have much sleep. You were grieving for Aimee while I was helping Juliet with Rosie and studying for my sergeant’s exam,” he said, blinking back tears. 

“Remember we promised to help each other out? That we’ll nudge each other if one of us fall asleep,” at this Fidel took a deep breath. “I’ll make a promise to you now, if you hold on and fight, I’ll hold on and fight with you. And while you’re recovering, I’ll look after the Chief for you, okay?”

Fidel stayed with Camille until Richard texted that they were on their way and had instructed him to tell Dr. Dupard to meet them in the lobby. He reluctantly stood up, went to her bedside and squeezed her hand gently. “Catherine will be here soon. Don’t worry. I’ll remember my promise even if you didn’t hear it.”

He didn’t want to leave her but he knew that if she was conscious, she wouldn’t want to be fussed over and would most likely kick him out of her room to do his job properly. Camille, to him, was an example of silent strength and keen sense of duty. She would definitely scold him if he neglected his in the process. So he left her room to prioritise work that needed doing.

After informing the doctor of Richard and Catherine’s arrival, he relieved Dwayne from guarding the suspect so the older officer could take a break. He informed Dwayne of Camille’s condition and saw the usually cheerful and mischievous face grew sullen. The gravity of Camille's situation had hit them both like a ton of bricks. A feeling of helplessness clung to him and he felt like a coiled spring about to snap.

But Dwayne came back to give him the good news. Camille was out of danger. It was only then that he was able to release the tension clutching at the pit of his stomach. His prayers were answered and he was grateful. He smiled and cried at the same time as the relief and tension mingled and melted away. He would make good his promise to Camille.

Fidel heaved a deep sigh at the recollection, momentarily forgetting his Chief of Police walking beside him. He gave Richard an embarrassed look for his inattentiveness.

Richard glanced at him briefly and just nodded. So caught up was he in his own worries and guilt that he had forgotten the fact that both Fidel and Dwayne had also been affected by what happened to Camille. Perhaps even more so than him because they were not just a team of colleagues, they were, first and foremost, very close friends. 

‘So this is what it feels like to have very close friends,’ he mused in understanding. ‘If one very close friend gets hurt, the others dread, worry and hope against hope. And if that friend pulls through, the others cry in relief, smile in happiness and offer a prayer of thanks.’ This awareness made him proud to be a part of their circle. It had been a long time for him to be in the presence of such level of caring among friends.

“I’m very glad, too, Fidel,” he replied truthfully, aiming not to sound too sentimental or mawkish. He would have added more but he was a bit mentally exhausted from all the worrying he had done. Maybe it was his turn to lighten the mood, he thought. “I’m sure when Camille finds out we were all worried about her like chickens running around with our heads cut off, she’ll be absolutely pleased. You know how she is when we spend the day faffing about and not getting any work done.”

It took a while for Fidel to decipher the deadpan humour in his Chief’s words. He stopped himself just in time from pointing out: “I thought that was you, sir?” Instead, he just glanced at Richard, who had a knowing glint in his eyes.He shook his head and gave in to a small smile. He had seen him delivered a joke with a straight face when DS Angela Young helped them with a case some time ago. 

The DS kept calling him Freddie and it had thoroughly vexed him. When Richard called him Freddie with a serious look on his face, he thought his boss had gone DS Young on him, too. But he cottoned on quickly and resisted the urge to ask, “Did you just make a joke, sir?”

He was relieved to see his Chief being relaxed and not too stressed out. ‘Maybe because he had taken his tie and jacket off. That probably made a huge difference in getting himself comfortable in this weather,’ he wondered but then quickly amended it. ‘No, it’s most likely because of the good news that Camille is going to be alright.’ 

As they both headed to Camille’s room, they saw Catherine already walking in the hallway toward them. Richard could see she looked tired from crying, her eyes red and swollen. He knew that she was still worried for her daughter. The usual cheerful demeanour surrounding her was muted, a stark contrast to the colorful clothes she was wearing. But nevertheless, she smiled openly when she saw them. Richard couldn’t help but admire the French’s indomitable spirit and Catherine was the very epitome of it.

“Good evening, Richard, Fidel,” she said, thoroughly glad to see familiar faces. 

“Catherine,” Richard nodded in greeting. “How are you and Camille doing?”

Catherine smiled bleakly. Like any mother, she wished this thing didn’t happen to her only daughter, that Camille didn’t get hurt, that she would give anything to change places with her. But she knew the past couldn’t be changed. And that it was not possible to change places with Camille. She just had to grin and bear it like what her friends were doing right before her eyes.

“I’m fine, Richard. Thank you. Camille is doing well, all things considered,” her voice croaked a little from disuse and from keeping in her sobs earlier. “She’s resting. Although, she would wake up now and then, confused. The doctor said it’s to be expected and that it means her brain is working and didn’t decide to go into a catatonic state.”

Richard stopped a hitch in his breath. He quickly schooled his features to avoid mimicking Catherine’s worry. This was only the first day, Camille may be out of the woods but her recovery process haven’t started yet. His eyes instantly clouded at the thought, too late to shield them from Catherine’s discerning ones.

“Well, the most important thing is that she's safe now. The doctor has been very optimistic and that puts me at ease a little,” Catherine said, wanting to lighten the dismal shroud still surrounding them when it came to Camille’s injuries. “So there’s nothing to worry about, Richard.”

She met his eyes to give credence to what she said. And Richard, to his credit, didn’t shy away. He steadied his gaze and slightly inclined his head in answer. “Yes, Catherine, we’re all very glad and extremely relieved that she’s going to be alright.” He managed to give her a small smile in acknowledgment. He was afraid that his true feelings would betray him if he went on this very emotional path for much longer. “Um, are you ready to go? Fidel is ready to take you back to your place now.” 

Catherine smiled and turned to Fidel. “Thank you, Fidel, for the offer to give me a ride and then take me back here. And thank you, too, Richard.”

“Well, it’s Dwayne and Fidel who seemed to have thought of everything. I get caught up in the smallest of details that I forget to look at the bigger picture. Sadly, it’s my obvious weakness. So no need to thank me,” said Richard, looking embarrassed. "They are both doing most of the hard work."

“Nonsense. They are able to take such actions because you trust them explicitly. If it’s any other superior officer, I doubt they’ll be allowed to take such liberties. So just accept my thanks and don’t say anything more,” Catherine said firmly. She knew the uptight Englishman hated drawing attention to himself. But she could plainly see he was worried as she was about Camille. His hair was a mess, his eyes had that tired look and his usually pristine long sleeved shirt was now creased and spotty. And the most surprising thing was, he didn't seem to mind at all. “Aren’t you coming with us? You seemed to be in need of rest. It’s been a long day for you.”

“Yeah...well...I...um,” Richard struggled to come up with the right words to voice his intention. On one hand, he desperately wanted to be of help to Catherine and Camille but on another, he felt acutely incompetent in giving support where it was needed. He doubted whether he was going to be of any use at all.

“What the Inspector wanted to say is that he would like to stay here and look after Camille while you’re gone, Catherine.” It was Fidel who calmly rescued Richard from his hesitation. The young officer gave him a brief, encouraging look and he nodded his silent thanks. “Yes, I would love to stay with Camille, if I may? So that, you know, someone is with her in case, she needed something or...” he trailed off. “Yeah, so, if it’s alright with you, Catherine, I...”

Richard found himself being embraced tightly. Catherine whispered, “Merci” in his ear and let him go. He saw her eyes brimming with tears, “That would be most helpful, Richard. I really don’t want my daughter to be all alone in her room. Being in the hospital is dismal enough, but being by herself in a lonely, dreary room, I don’t want that for Cami. So thank you, this means a lot.”

He stood wordlessly, not exactly sure what to say. He just felt relieved that he was at least useful and could keep Camille company while Catherine was away. For some reason, he was now even more anxious about carrying out this role and see Camille right away.

“Well then, shall we go?” Catherine asked, turning to Fidel. 

“Yes ma’m,” Fidel replied, leading her to the hospital exit. “Sir, do you have anything I can get for you? Food or maybe some change of clothes?”

“Oh right. I would appreciate it if you could retrieve my jacket, tie and brief case at the station, Fidel. I feel rather...” Richard was going to say ‘naked’ but changed his mind. “...um, incomplete without them.”

“Will do, sir,” the young man quickly answered.

“And don’t worry about the food. I’ll bring some for you and a carafe of tea,” said Catherine, giving him a wink. 

“Thank you, Catherine. I would really appreciate that,” Richard said. He was looking forward to drinking a proper tea to calm his nerves and bring him back to equilibrium. He walked with them to the exit.

But Catherine stopped him. “No need to see us off, Richard. Just go into Camille's room and stay with her. Please don’t leave her alone.”

Richard just nodded in response. He wanted to tell Catherine that he wasn’t going anywhere. But clearly, eloquence with words eluded him. He wanted to say he won’t leave Camille. He would be by her side and see this ordeal through with her. No matter what.

* * *

 


	8. Conceded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be three chapters in one update. This one chapter has gotten a bit longer than I expected so I went ahead and turned it into three separate shorter chapters. I find it gets a bit tedious when the chapter is quite long that I needed a break from reading it. I hope you get to read all three. It goes together nicely hence the similar beginning letters of the titles.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, for the feedback and for the kudos. They are very much appreciated. Oh and I hope you're ready for the Christmas holiday. May it be a fun and meaningful time for you and your family. :-)

* * *

Richard stood on the threshold of Camille’s room, rearranging his emotions to keep him calm and collected. He didn’t know why he had to do it. Nobody was around to see him anyway. But for some reason, he needed to clear his head and tamp down emotions that were threatening to drown him. 

Perhaps, it was the logical part of him that was trying to protect the emotional part of him, the one with the soft heart, the one who cared and loved deeply. He long admitted to himself that he cared for his DS beyond what was considered professional. He had berated himself, reminded himself of the rules and built his walls higher to repress the feeling. But it kept coming back, making its presence known every chance it got. He knew it was a losing battle. Right now, it was looming large and uncontrollable.

Earlier, he went to the bathroom to wash his face. The fastidious side of him wanted to look presentable to Camille even though he knew she would be asleep. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Had he always been haggard-looking? And why were the strands of his hair standing up and unruly? He tried to smooth them down but some kept coming back up. He sighed. ‘This blasted hair is not being my friend right now,’ He surveyed his dress shirt and sighed again. The shirt was creased and there were little specks of dirt permanently attached to it. 

“It can’t be helped. I had a scuffle with a suspect. It’s a miracle it’s not too filthy,” he mumbled as he tried to dust them off. When he was satisfied with his overall appearance, he made his way back to Camille’s room. He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew without a doubt that the sight of her lying on the hospital bed, battered and bruised, would overwhelm him. His heart clenched at the thought, momentarily stopping him in his tracks.

But the need to see her was stronger and he pushed himself forward without hesitation. Immediately, a hard lump on his throat formed as Camille came into view. He moved closer and saw her face, a small adhesive strip affixed to her temple and an ugly bruise turning black and blue tainted the cheek where she had been grazed. Her right arm was on a sling to immobilize her dislocated shoulder while an intravenous drip run across her other free arm.

The silence of the room was punctuated by the steady hum of the heart and blood pressure monitor beside her bed. Her head was slightly elevated and he wondered if her head injury had been sufficiently treated. Trust him to worry about the small details. He looked at her closed eyelids, wondering if she truly was alright. Catherine mentioned earlier that Camille would wake up, seemingly lost and confused. And he was worried about it. 

Was that a symptom of a traumatic head injury? Did the doctors miss something? He abruptly closed his eyes, ‘No, no, don’t go there, Poole. They said she’s out of danger. You have to believe that.’ He opened his eyes again and gazed back at her. “Camille,” he whispered with barely contained desperation as he reached for her hand. 

“Look at what you got yourself into,” he continued, trying not to sound reproachful. “I should have just ordered you to stay at the station. You said everything’s going to be fine but look at what happened...I...”

He could feel his voice cracking, the hard lump was trying to get out of his throat. “I...I wanted to protect you. But I failed. I’m so sorry...” He placed a hand over his eyes, willing the tears of frustration to hold. The guilt came back a hundredfold and he felt truly helpless. He gently stroked her hand, allowing himself to feel the warmth of her skin and to believe she was alive. It was what mattered most, after all. 

He recalled the ride on the ambulance with her. It was the first time he felt the unbridled fear of possibly losing someone he considered important to him. His stomach lurched constantly and he broke out in a cold sweat. He kept reminding himself to breathe but every minute of the ride only brought him closer to hopelessness. The fear was merciless and encompassing in its wake. He resisted the urge to keep calling her name to reassure himself. He gritted his teeth and set his jaw. ‘Get it together, Poole. She needs you.’

But at this moment, he needed her. He needed her to be out of this bed, chattering constantly about mundane things and occasionally teasing him. He needed her to be doing the things she usually did with him, with the team—be it talking about a case, interviewing witnesses or waiting for lab results at the station. He needed her to be just fine with nary an injury and the prospect of a long recovery ahead of her. He just needed her to be the way she was ,  safe and unharmed, before all these happened. Was that too much to ask?

Camille’s rapid French broke into his thoughts and startled him. He looked at her face and gave her hand a squeeze. She was talking yet her eyes remained closed. She tossed her head, her voice sounded broken and hoarse. Richard couldn’t make out what she said but it was as if she was having a bad dream. “Maman...where are you?” she whimpered.

“Camille, it’s Richard...everything’s fine,” he soothed, quickly imitating Catherine’s reassuring tone which he heard earlier. “Shhh...you’re going to be alright. Just rest.” He felt Camille gripped his hand hard. She hitched her breath and Richard thought she was unconsciously holding it far longer than necessary. He started to panic a little.  

“It’s alright. I’m right here,” he murmured, trying hard to mask his distress. “I won’t leave you.” It took a while for Camille to relax her grip but he stood by her bedside unmoving as his other hand gently smoothed her forehead. He wondered what other horrors she might be experiencing because of her injuries. Like Catherine, he was still worried.

After a few long minutes, he was beginning to feel his joints ache from standing too long. He looked around and spotted a chair by the doorway. He patted Camille’s hand gently and lowered it on the bed. He walked over to the chair, quietly picked it up and placed it by her bedside. He sat on the chair, groaning as he leaned his back on it. He quickly eyed Camille in case he had woken her but she remained asleep. For the nth time that day, he wished he had a book to read. It would have made the waiting tolerable and kept the anxiety away. If he had brought his briefcase with him, he would have a book stashed away in there. But no such luck.

He had to keep himself awake somehow until Catherine came back. It won’t do to sleep on the job, he thought. Then he corrected himself, it wasn’t a job to stay with Camille, it was what he wanted to do. He looked at her and held her hand. “Just so you know, I don’t usually talk to myself. Well, I talk to Harry on occasion about boring stuffs but that’s hardly making conversation, is it? I’d really rather talk to you because I like...you...um, you talking to me about things.”

His thumb nervously rubbed her knuckles. “I mean, you have a way of making me talk about things that I don’t usually talk about with anyone really, even to my parents. I wonder why that is, but I kind of like it. Perhaps, because I trust you and I wanted to share things with you.”

He abruptly stopped himself, surprised at what he just said. He rubbed his forehead, deciding whether to continue. He revealed more than he wanted about his feelings to her and felt a pang of guilt at his audacity to take advantage of her unconsciousness to pour them out freely. This was so like him.

And yet for some selfish reason, he wanted to tell her the feelings he had long repressed—that he cared for her and that she was important to him—and he knew fully well it was a coward’s route. For him, it was safer this way because he simply wouldn’t have the courage to tell her all these things under normal circumstances. He would be too afraid to witness her reaction or worse, her rejection.  

Maybe he would get a reprieve from these feelings if he were to say them out loud now like some sort of confessional. Or maybe, once it had been said it would forever hold its peace. But surprisingly, he didn’t want them to end, they were simply too precious to let go. Just as she was too precious to him. Better here and now than never, he thought. 

“I care about you a whole lot, Camille,” he said, his voice low and unsure. “And I know I’m not the easiest person to get on with. Um, you probably don’t like me for that.” He flash backed to dozens of times when Camille got annoyed or angry with him. But he noticed, too, that she would tolerate and forgive him again and again.

“Um, I’m not very good with women. So, I tend to say things that offend or irritate them. What can I say, I’m just not good with people, a misanthrope,” he winced at his self-deprecating humour. He knew it was a bit much because it wasn’t like he hated people. He just didn’t want to socialize with them all the time. As he had told her before, he liked his own company. But what he didn’t tell her was that he also liked the company of someone who understood him. Someone like her.

“The truth is, I like you,” he said, keeping his tone casual but failing. He couldn’t imagine saying this to her in her wakened state but here he was blurting it out because she wasn’t.  “Um, a lot actually.” 

He sighed as he waited for his inner unconfident self to list a litany of his shortcomings at the back of his head. But nothing came because he was being honest with himself for once. “And I’m...I’m very certain that my ordered, boring, uneventful life would be a lot gloomier, a lot bleaker without you in it.” 

There he did it. After endless months of repression and self-control, he finally did it. He breathed slowly. It was a small accomplishment on his part, this confession of his feelings. It was a step to finally understanding what he wanted and not run away from it. He smiled to himself and allowed that feeling of relief wash over him for a moment. He stood up and moved closer to her face.

“Of course, you’ll never know that because rules are rules,” he whispered with longing and defeat. “We can’t break the rules, can we?” He stared at her features as tenderly as he could. He would never have the opportunity to look at her closely like this again. He was sure he wouldn’t even have the nerve to look at her in the eyes in the future. This intimate display of affection for her would most likely remain sealed away in one of the dark recesses of his heart. 

As suddenly as the thought arrived, he unconsciously pressed his lips lightly on her full lips. He jerked upright, surprised by his sudden action. He placed a hand over his mouth and began pacing the floor. ‘Christ, I’ve let my emotions get the better of me again,’ he berated himself. He looked at Camille, still sound asleep, and touched his lips. ‘That would be the first and the last,’ he told himself resolutely. He must never allow himself to slip up like that. Not ever. He shuddered at what Camille would say if she’d been awake. God, she would most likely lodge a complaint against him or worse, beat him senseless.

He collapsed on the chair to calm himself. How could he had been so careless? He buried his face in his hands. She was unconscious and injured and he just took advantage of her. What kind of friend was he? ‘Just a loathsome, sexually harassing bastard, that’s what,‘ he muttered, angry at himself and his lack of propriety and self-control. He messed up his hair in irritation.  

He debated whether to step out of the room to clear his head or not. But he didn’t want to leave her alone. He decided to stay put and do breathing exercises. There were too many thoughts swimming in his head, so he had to focus. Breathe in, think of other things instead of Camille. Breathe out, let go of panic and embrace the calm. 

He heard his stomach grumble and sighed. Being tired and hungry were not helping. It seemed the weariness was again winning out. He placed an arm on the bed and let the tips of their fingers touch. He wouldn’t want to be caught holding her hand in case anyone came in the room. He felt himself nodding off. It had been a long day, perhaps he could get a quick kip before Catherine arrived with the tea. He laid his head on the bed and closed his eyes. 

* * *

 


	9. Collapsed

* * *

  _She was drifting in and out of consciousness. Dreams and nightmares would come and go. But she didn’t see any images, her eyelids were simply too heavy to force them to open in compliance. Meanwhile voices filled her ears but she made no effort to identify them._

_“Everything’s fine. I will be here for you.”_

_“Hang in there, girl. You’re tougher than this.”_

_“I promise you I will take care of the Chief while you recover.”_

_“Rest and recover well, Sergeant Bordey._

_“The truth is I like you. Um, a lot actually...I’m certain that my ordered, boring, uneventful life would be a lot gloomier, a lot bleaker without you in it._

_These words kept swimming in her head, as if begging her to keep them in her memories. But all she desperately wanted was to pass out from exhaustion because this limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness was just too much to bear._

Camille slowly opened her eyes. Everything was a blur. She blinked, trying to focus her sight on something steady and clear. What greeted her was a white ceiling with a dimly lit fluorescent light. A moment of panic seized her. What place was this? It looked vaguely familiar but she recalled nothing. She forced her eyes to open wide. Where was she? What country? What holding cell?

She tried to move her right arm and almost immediately a shooting pain radiated from her dislocated shoulder. She clenched her teeth, realizing that the pain was not solely coming from her shoulder. Her body ached all over—her head, her cheek, her chest. ‘What happened to me?’ she thought as she gingerly raised her left hand to her face. She felt the adhesive strip on her temple and the slight swelling on her cheek. 

She was wide awake now as she stared at the ceiling of her hospital room. A wave of dizziness engulfed her and she quickly placed a hand to her mouth to stop the nauseating feeling. She took slow breaths through her nose and forced herself to calm down. She needed to know where she was first. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, waiting for the room to stop spinning. 

She looked around and saw the heart and blood pressure monitor and the IV drip by the other side of her bed. ‘I’m in a hospital?’ she asked herself as the memory of what happened to her slowly trickled to her mind. She silently cursed at the thought of being in a hospital for it meant she had been injured and she would again need to go through a bout of recovery and rehabilitation.

Having been shot twice in the line of duty, Camille was way too familiar with the process. She had been through her fair share of recovery and rehabilitation hell. Both took a lot from her not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. Apart from the constant pain, the possibility of losing some of the normal functions of her body frightened her. It took sheer willpower and determination on her part to keep herself from succumbing to fear and depression.

But she knew it was so easy to spiral downward. She remembered her initial frustration. Everything progressed slowly so she forced herself to do more and pushed herself to a level way past her limits. Her physical therapist severely warned her about the consequences of pushing too far and too fast. “You’re not helping yourself. If you keep doing this, you will incur further injuries and even prolong your rehabilitation. Or worse, you may not recover at all,” he said to her bluntly.  

It was the only time she followed the rules diligently and summoned all the patience she could muster to be able to stick to the program. It was one of the toughest moments in her life. Realizing she would go through the same thing again irritated her. She pushed her head on her pillow and felt a searing pain at the back of her head. ‘Merde!’ she muttered, finding out she also had a wound at the back of her head. 

She dropped her left hand on the bedside and made to grab for the sheet in frustration only to feel strands of hair in her hand. She looked down, startled. She was grabbing a fistful of Richard’s hair.  

“Ow!” Richard groaned and lifting his head up from the bed. She immediately let go of his hair and resisted the urge to laugh. She was relieved to see a familiar face. “Sorry,” she squeaked, frowning at the sound of her voice.

“Easy on the hair, will you? I very much like to keep these for very much longer, thank you,” he said, smoothing the hair on the back of his head. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and gave her a lopsided grin. “Bad dream?”

“Something like that,” she whispered, her voice not yet her own. She smiled back at him weakly. “Maman?”

“Catherine has gone back to her place to get a change of clothes and other essentials for her stay here at the hospital with you,” he explained. “Dwayne and Fidel are on shifts, guarding the suspect. So I volunteered to stay here until she comes back.”

She nodded still in a daze. Richard’s brows furrowed at the sight of her, his green eyes softening. “How do you feel?” 

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she joked. 

“You look like it, too,” he joked back.

She tried to snort but it made her chest hurt. She pouted instead, “I bet I do.” 

“Nah, you look alright,” Richard said quickly and lightly touched her hand. “And that’s the most important thing.”

She smiled briefly then realized that her predicament reflected her failure at making the arrest. “I’m so sorry, sir. The suspect got away.”

“No, he didn’t. He’s in custody now,” he said in a most reassuring tone. But his inability to temper his earnest pursuit of the facts for the case got the better of him. “Do you remember what happened when you caught up with him in the alley?”

Camille looked at him, confused. She tried to recall the events that led to her injuries but the pieces wouldn't come together. “I remember he had drugs on him...”

“Yes, it’s PCP or phencyclidine. He had a lot of it in his system when a toxicology screen was done on him earlier,” Richard said as he paced the floor. “Did he have any weapon on him?”

She shut her eyes tight. “I don’t...no, he picked up a pipe somewhere. But there’s none that he carried on him, I think.”

“Good. Did he tell you anything? Where he was going in Saint Marie perhaps? Was he just planning to hideout here and then get out when the manhunt died down?” His Inspector cogwheels were grinding, eager to get more information about the case.

Camille rubbed her forehead. She was beginning to feel the onset of a massive headache. Her breathing was becoming laboured, too. “Sir, I really can’t recall everything. I can remember bits and pieces but the rest is a blur. I can’t...I’m...”

Richard suddenly realized his insensitivity. ‘Christ, I’m interrogating her at this state. How could I be so callous,’ he scolded himself silently. “Right. I’m sorry, Camille. I’m...” he rubbed his face with his hand in shame. “I’m terribly sorry I’m such an idiot. The detective in me just kicked in and I was...nevermind. He’s in custody, that’s the good news.”

Camille just nodded at him. She forgot that this man, her boss, was a police officer first before anything else. But she was thankful he took the time to be with her. If only the tight feeling in her chest would go away. Both the headache and the tight feeling was making her uncomfortable.

“Do you need anything?” Richard said to her gently as if sensing her distress. He wanted to make amends for his interrogation. He couldn’t believe he behaved that way to Camille and it was making him even more guilty.

“Just a sip of water, please,” she croaked. Her mouth was dry and parched. Maybe a drink of water would make her feel a little better, she thought.

“Right. Coming up,” He went to the bedside table and retrieved a glass of water with a straw in it. He held it up to Camille’s lips so she could take a sip. “Thanks,” she said, secretly amused at her boss’ attentiveness.

“You did a good job, Camille. Really,” he said unable to meet her eyes, afraid that he might reveal what he did to her when she was sleeping. “If you hadn’t kept the suspect from escaping, we wouldn’t have him in custody.”

“Yes but I didn’t. My plan was not to get injured when trying to stall him. But look at me. I totally failed,” she said, letting a hint of frustration and bitterness leak out of her voice. She was feeling breathless now. She didn’t know if it was because of anger at herself or something else.

“Nonsense. You did a good job. I would have preferred you not getting hurt but you were able to do what we couldn’t,” Richard admonished kindly. The last thing he wanted was to tax an injured Camille. “Besides, you should see that guy. He looked worse than you.”

Camille eyed him in disbelief but he continued in a deadpan voice, “He looked like he was run over by a tank.”

Camille just gave him the look. But he remained unaffected, eyebrows both raised and mouthed, “A tank.” He smiled slyly and nodded as if to say, ‘Can you believe it?’ 

She screwed up her face in an attempt not to laugh. But she couldn’t stop herself. She snorted. “Oh please, don’t make me laugh. My chest hurts when I laugh.” She felt like she was wearing a tight corset. Every breath felt like she was hauling air through a straw. She coughed with difficulty.

Richard’s smile disappeared. “Camille? Are you alright?”

“I can’t...breathe...I...” she said, labouring at every word. “I...can’t...”

“Hang on, Camille,” Richard said, trying not to panic. His hand reached for the call button. A nurse’s voice came on the intercom. “Yes, can I help you?” 

“My detective sergeant is having a hard time breathing. We need a doctor right now,” he said in rapid fire. “Hang on, Camille. Try to take deep, slow breaths. The doctor is on his way.” He didn’t know he had reached for her hand. But he was clutching it tightly.

Camille just nodded. The tightening on her chest was getting worse. It felt like her rib cage was squeezing her heart and lungs out. She took deep, slow breaths. She looked at Richard and focused on his worried face. She had never seen him with that desperate look before.

Dr. Dupard came in with two nurses. Richard nodded at her before gently letting go of her hand. He needed to get out of the way for the doctor to do his job.

“Sergeant Bordey, can you talk?” the doctor asked as he listened to Camille’s chest with a stethoscope. He motioned to one of the nurses to put her bed up. The other adeptly placed an oxygen mask on her.

“Yes,” she finally said, feeling better being in a sitting position.

“Just continue with deep, slow breaths,” instructed the doctor. This time he was placing the stethoscope on Camille’s back and listening to her lungs. He turned to the nurses, “Get me the ultrasound machine and page Dr. Alice Brion to come here. We might have to get a thoracic vent in her if my hunch is correct.”

“Yes, doctor,” the nurses said and quickly left. Dr. Dupard continued to look at the blood pressure monitor. “How are you feeling, Sergeant Bordey?”

“I...feel like...something is squeezing...my heart out,” Camille said, her voice muffled by the mask.

Richard stood at the foot of the bed, dumbfounded. “What is happening doctor?” he tried hard to keep his tone even and calm.

“I have a hunch that she has a collapsed lung. But we’ll know for certain when I scan her with the ultrasound,” Dr. Dupard said. 

“What? How could that happen?” Richard asked in disbelief. “She was feeling fine earlier.”

“If you’ve received a blow to the chest, the injury resulting from that may cause a spontaneous pneumothorax. In her case, as your Officer Best said earlier, she was bodily shoved to the wall and that might have bruised or fractured her ribs,” Dr. Dupard answered as he kept a close eye on Camille’s blood pressure. “You’re doing great, Sergeant Bordey. Just deep, slow breaths.”

“Did she fracture her ribs then?” Richard persisted. 

“The good news is no. The bad news is that spontaneous pneumothorax may still occur,” said the doctor. He didn’t say anything more because one nurse came in with the ultrasound machine. “Now let’s see if my hunch is correct.” 

The nurse got to work on lowering Camille’s hospital gown to reveal her chest for the ultrasound.

“No!” Camille cried out in surprise as she held on to the gown with her left hand. 

“We are just going to lower it a bit for the ultrasound, Sergeant,” said the nurse.

“Get him out of here first,” said Camille as she looked at Richard who was standing at the foot of the bed, looking stricken and anxious. He hadn’t caught what Camille was on about as he was too worried for her to think of anything at the moment.

“Camille, it’s alright. They’re here to help. You might have a collapsed lung and they want to make sure. So please do as they say,” Richard both explained and pleaded. He couldn’t believe she was being stubborn at a time like this.

Camille glared at him. She shook her head and talked to the doctor. “I need him out of here before you do the ultrasound,” she said in one breath. Dr. Dupard looked at her and then at Richard, utterly confused by her request. 

She rolled her eyes. “He’s my boss. I don’t want him to see me naked,” she said, raising her voice to make herself heard over the mask. At that moment, the other nurse came in pushing a hospital cart with a suction device and a procedure tray on it followed by an amiable, heavy set woman in a doctor’s coat.

“Ah Dr. Dupard. So, have you confirmed the pneumothorax on our patient?” she asked cheerfully.

“Dr. Brion, this is Detective Sergeant Bordey and that is Detective Inspector Richard Poole,” he said pointing to both police officers. He was suddenly at a lost. “Um, not yet. We’ve got a bit of a problem.” 

Camille rolled her eyes again as she clutched at her gown tightly. “How do you do, Dr. Brion,” she took a deep, shallow breath. “I just want to request that the Inspector step out of the room while we’re doing the procedure.” 

Dr. Brion looked at her and then looked at Richard. Richard mumbled a greeting to her. “I think Inspector Poole, you had better step out of the room for the sake of propriety. You don’t want to see your female officer naked, do you?”

The thought of seeing Camille naked suddenly jolted Richard’s worried mind. His eyes widened and realization finally dawned on him like he had been doused with cold water. “Oh? Oh right!...Um, I understand completely. Right. I’m sorry Camille I thought you were just being stubborn as usual and I just want to help...and I...um...”

He saw Camille raised an eyebrow at him. “Right. I’ll step out now. I’ll be by the door in case, um, you need me.” He walked out the door, his face beet red. He cursed under his breath, this was not his damn day. He stood by the doorway, intent at listening in on what was going on in the room.

* * *


	10. Consoled

* * *

“There it is. It’s quite a large collapse on the left lung. Do you see it?” said Dr. Dupard as he ran the ultrasound on Camille’s left side.

“Yes it is. Good thing we caught it early,” said Dr. Brion. “And I’m glad she’s conscious and not in any respiratory distress at this point. Although, we have to deal with this significant collapse now. Are you still experiencing chest pain, Sergeant Bordey?”

“Just a little,” Camille answered. “It’s not so bad sitting upright.”

“Well, that’s about to change since we’re going to put a tube in you to get the air out of that chest cavity so your collapsed lung can inflate. Alright?” explained Dr. Brion.

Richard fidgeted. What kind of procedure were they going to do? He wished he could see inside so he could be assured of Camille’s safety. But he chided himself. The doctors were the experts and he would probably be just in the way. He quickly pulled out his phone and googled for treatment of pneumothorax.

“Dr. Brion can you walk me through this procedure? I feel better prepared if I know what you are doing to me every step of the way,” Camille said in a surprisingly calm manner.

Richard was shocked at Camille’s request. He knew she was brave but to want to know what to expect at a surgical procedure was quite remarkable. He added this newfound respect for his detective sergeant to his pile of what he loved about her. Did he just thought he loved her? He crossed his arms in frustration.

“Alright,” said Dr. Brion. “Let’s get you back to a lying position. The nurse here will give your pain medication on an IV now.”

Richard heard a rustle of sheets and carts being moved. He was working himself up to full anxiety as he read through a treatment he found online. 

“Let’s hold off on the Fentanyl for now. It will be on as needed basis, in case she feels too uncomfortable during the procedure,” Dr. Brion told the nurse. 

“Do you have any medical problems or allergy to medicine of any kind, Sergeant Bordey?” asked Dr. Dupard.

“None that I know of,” answered Camille.

“Good. Now let’s see,” said Dr. Brion as she ran her fingers down Camille’s left clavicle, trying to find her ribs. Camille was surprised that for a heavy set woman, Dr. Brion’s touch felt light and gentle as a feather. “What I’m doing right now is trying to find the space between your first and second ribs. Here it is, just above the second rib would be where the device will be inserted to vent air out. It will be like a catheter attached to a suction device.” 

“You see, mild cases of collapsed lung are treated with a tube and syringe method or nothing at all since it will go away eventually. It just needs to be monitored. But for big sections of pneumothorax, we insert a chest tube to vent air out,” explained Dr. Dupard. “Now if the chest tube doesn’t resolve the issue, surgery is used to seal air leaks in the lung.”

“But this wonderful device, called a thoracic vent, is easier to use and more comfortable for the patient than a simple chest tube. Patients are not incapacitated, they can move around with it. I’ve done about a hundred procedures with this very useful device. So you have nothing to worry about,” said Dr. Brion.

Richard heaved a sigh of relief. A hundred procedure was a good track record. Camille would be in good hands.

“How do you feel?” asked Dr. Brion cheerfully. 

“I think the drugs are taking effect now. I feel trippy, as you’d call it,” said Camille.

Both doctors laughed. “That’s good, we want you to feel happy and relaxed,” said Dr. Brion as she put on her surgical gown and sterile gloves. “I’m now going to prep the area where I’ll insert the device alright?”

A few more rustlings and the sound of plastic tubing being unraveled came to Richard’s ears. He also heard a device being turned on. He wanted to look at what was going on, but he stopped himself. Camille would kill him if she saw him do so much as get a little peek. He shuffled on his feet.

“Okay, I’ve sterilized the area. Let me check my landmark again,” said Dr. Brion as she knead into Camille’s second rib. “Here it is. I’ll be injecting you with anaesthesia now, Sergeant Bordey. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” came Camille’s weak reply.

“Good. You’ll feel a short prick that’s the anaesthesia and a second, long one I'll use to find the cavity and numb that area as well,” said Dr. Brion, who worked quite fast as she talked. Camille hitched her breath at the second one. “I know this one is quite annoying. I’m trying to find the cavity and injecting the anaesthesia along the way. Bear with it for just a little bit longer.”

“I see air bubbles in the syringe. A good sign that you’ve hit the thoracic cavity,” said Dr. Dupard.

“Yup. That looks good,” said Dr. Brion. “How are you doing, Sergeant Bordey?” 

“I’m still here,” answered Camille. She wondered if there was going to be another painful step to this process. She drove the thought out of her head. Pain was the last thing she wanted to think about. 'Picture the blue sea, the palm trees, the sand and that pedantic idiot of a boss,' she said to herself.

Richard involuntarily coughed. Something made his throat itchy but he dismissed it. He continued with his eavesdropping. If what he’d speed read about this particular procedure was accurate, the doctor would be making her incision right about now.

“Alright, I’m making an incision. Nothing huge, in fact just a little on the skin so we can insert the device in,” said Dr. Brion with a little bit of excitement and glee in her voice, much to Richard’s discomfort. “I’m doing the insertion now, so you’ll feel a bit of pressure as it goes in okay.” 

At this point, Richard closed his eyes. He saw what the thoracic vent looked like online. It had quite a sizable tube with a surgical trocar that could be inserted to the rib area to reach the space where it could vent out air from the chest cavity. 

“Merde!” Camille cried out as the device was initially inserted and she shuddered uncontrollably. “Hold her steady, please,” Dr. Brion instructed the nurses. “Relax, Sergeant Bordey. It will be over soon.” 

As she said this, she quickly but carefully inserted the tube of the device all the way in, making sure to avoid being heavyhanded. It was not a smooth process as it was literally akin to driving a nail in a person’s chest muscle with her bare hand. But she was a strong woman and Camille had a very petite frame. For her, this was a piece of cake.

Richard balled his fists to keep himself rooted to the spot. If he didn’t, he would have ran inside and stop the whole procedure. But of course, that was the irrational, emotional part of him thinking. Good thing his logical part hadn’t lost control of his senses.

Dr. Brion expertly adjusted the catheter tube and took out the trocar to let the device begin sucking out air. She put the adhesives in place to keep the device from moving. “There, we’re done. How are you feeling, Sergeant Bordey?” 

“A bit winded,” said Camille, her breath coming in gasps to cope with the pain.

“The initial pain will go away soon. It’s normal as we’d just introduced a foreign object in your body,” reassured Dr. Dupard. “Are you feeling nauseated?”

“Yes, a little bit,” said Camille. 

“Put her bed up, please,” Dr. Brion ordered one of the nurses. “We’ll give you something for the nausea. It’s a natural response when a tube is put into your chest. The next step would be to have a chest x-ray done after this and then another x-ray in say, 30 minutes. Right Dr. Dupard?” said Dr. Brion, taking off her gown and gloves.

“Yes, I’ll have the radiology technician come down now to do the first x-ray,” replied Dr. Dupard as he put in a call order to the lab. Meanwhile, the nurses were kind enough to bring a tube-style hospital gown for Camille to wear without hindering the thoracic vent. They carefully placed her right arm on a splint to immobilize her dislocated shoulder again and put the blanket on her.

“You did really well, Sergeant Bordey,” Dr. Brion said with a wide smile. “Among the hundred people I did this procedure on, most of the men fainted when I start to shove the tube in.”

Camille managed a small smile under the mask. “Thank you, doctor,” she said. Surprisingly, the severe pain was now replaced by a dull throbbing. “I can’t move my left arm. Is that normal?”

“Yes. It’s the effect of the anaesthesia. It can numb some of the nerves on the arm but when the anaesthesia wears off, you’ll have mobility again,” reassured Dr. Dupard. “The technician is on his way, Dr. Brion.”

“Great. Um, shall we let Inspector Poole in now,” Dr. Brion joked as she looked at Camille. “I mean, he made good on his promise not to peek. But I’m sure he’s anxious to know how you’re doing.”

Richard, who was intently listening in, rolled his eyes. Dr. Brion was too cheeky for his taste. She reminded him of Dwayne. But just the same, he stood by the door and waited to be called back in.

Camille only nodded her agreement. The pain medication was beginning to make her a little bit loopy. She needed somebody with a clear head to explain to her mother what had happened when she comes back.

The radiology technician, a tall man with a shock of white hair and a white beard, arrived, pushing a portable x-ray machine inside the room. Richard stepped aside to let him in when a nurse turned up by the door, smiling at him. “Sir, you can come in now.”

Richard nodded and thanked her as he strode in. He stayed back at a distance and let the technician do his work. Meanwhile, he could see the two doctors conferring with one another. They were busy looking at the ultrasound printouts of Camille’s collapsed lung.

The radiology technician handed them a developed x-ray, which they promptly placed on the x-ray view box in the room. They became quite engrossed, looking at the image.

The technician excused himself and pushed his machine out of the room. Richard nodded and thanked him. He looked at where Camille was and saw she was looking at him. He walked towards her and stopped by the foot of her bed. 

He gave her a nod and stole a glance at the rectangular vent sticking out her left chest just above her covered breast. She smiled at him weakly. 

“Well, it looks like the vent is doing its work, Sergeant Bordey, Inspector Poole,” declared Dr. Brion. “I like what I see on the x-ray. But of course, we’ll be monitoring you round the clock to see if the air continues to vent and the leaks are being sealed.”

“Is there a possibility that the leaks will not seal?” Richard asked, worried again about worst-case scenarios. 

“There is a possibility,” said Dr. Dupard. “If the leaks refuse to seal themselves, surgery would be the other treatment option we’re looking at.”

Camille shook her head and Richard saw she was becoming agitated again. “Um, but you said the vent is doing its work, right? So that’s just a smidgeon of possibility, am I right?”

“Yes, of course,” said Dr. Brion. “But it seldom happens. We only see this happening to patients with underlying respiratory problems like asthma, COPD, emphysema or those who smoke. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

Richard nodded, relief showing on his face. He wanted to hold Camille’s hand to reassure her but he had to maintain proper decorum as Chief of Police. He would do it later when they were alone.

“Alrighty then, I think my work here is done,” said Dr. Brion cheerily. “There are other patients who may need this wonderful device nailed on their chests.”

Richard hid a grimace. He couldn’t help but hear that all-too-gleeful tone on her voice again. He resolved not to let his lungs collapsed at all cost. 

“Inspector, she’s under heavy pain medication again so it’s good that you’re here. Madame Bordey is coming back soon I suppose,” said Dr. Dupard. “If something comes up or if she’s feeling uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to call the nurse and the nurse will bring me here.”

“Thank you, Dr. Dupard,” he nodded gratefully. “Dr. Brion, does she have to be in that upright position all the time?”

“Heavens no. Here let me adjust the bed inclination just a bit so it would be comfortable. We just need to have her head elevated so she can breathe comfortably.” said Dr. Brion, swiftly adjusting the hospital bed.

When the two doctors left, he went to Camille’s bedside. She smiled at him.

“Um, I’m sorry I lost my head earlier. I honestly didn’t get what you were trying to say because I was too focused...you know...” he stammered, trying to find the right words to say to her.

“It’s alright, sir,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, too, for kicking you out of the room.”

Richard shook his head. “Well, I didn’t want to see you naked. Not that I don’t want to, mind you. I mean you’re an attractive woman, who wouldn’t? But...”

Camille raised an eyebrow at him again. “Right...sorry I got sidetracked. Um, so how are you feeling? With the vent and all that?”

“It felt like being stabbed with an icepick,” she said and attempted a snigger. She stopped because it seemed every movement brought a sharp pain on the location of the device.

Richard bristled at the thought. “Camille, please don’t use that analogy again,” he shuddered. “Although, it must have been really painful when the tube went in for you to cry out like that.”

He saw her nod but her body was shaking. He began to panic. “Camille, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Tell me.”

Camille just shook her head and let the tears of frustration fall on her face. She was trying very hard not to feel weak and miserable but the day had become too stressful for her.

Richard felt her misery straight through the core of his heart. He wanted to gather her in his arms but the wires, the tubes and other devices were in the way.

For the first time, Richard Poole didn’t think about his actions. Instead, he allowed his actions to be directed by what he truly felt inside. Camille needed him. And he would be there for her. While he failed to protect her, this time around he won’t fail to comfort her.

He kissed her forehead as his thumb wiped away the tears falling on the side of her face. He rested his forehead on hers. “You’ve been through a lot. I know it’s overwhelming. But let's take it one day at a time, alright?”

Camille just hung her head in despair. He held her face with both hands and lifted it gently to his eye level. “Listen, you don’t have to do this alone. Your mother is here, the team is here, I’m here. We’ll all do this together with you, okay?" He said unsure if she believed him. He felt his confidence waning but he ploughed on. "Um, I know I’m not good at giving support. I’m awkward, cold and aloof when it comes to feelings. But I want you to believe me now when I say, I won’t let you go through this alone. I promise you.”

Camille smiled despite the emotions that were engulfing her. She looked him in the eye and nodded. ‘This man, why does he care so much about me?’ she thought. But the warm hands on her face felt good and reassuring. Hands that were calming and soothing her to sleep, to not worry. She heaved a deep sigh and nodded again. She wished she could remember how she felt for him. But now wasn’t the time for that, she was just too tired. Too tired of everything.  

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The treatment of Camille's pneumothorax or collapsed lung is from my own personal experience. My exercise-induced asthma had caused one of my lungs to collapse not too long ago and so I had to go through this thoracic vent treatment. And honestly speaking, it felt like being stabbed with an icepick or may be a long thin nail (even though I haven't experienced any of these). But it was painful at the start and my body trembled involuntarily. As in my body literally spasmed. My doctor was this very tall lady (she reminds me of Brienne of Tarth from Game of Thrones for some reason...lol) and she was friendly and surprisingly very talkative. She told me what she was doing every step of the way (not like the way Dr. Alice Brion talked of course). The thing I remembered most about that procedure (aside from the friggin' pain) was what she said: "Okay I'm going to drive this sucker in your chest like a nail. So get ready." I'm laughing at that now but back then I was, "WAIT?! WHA...WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!!" Yeah, not-so-fun-time, so don't get your lungs collapsed. ;-)
> 
> Just a quick reminder, I'm not a medical professional so the steps of the procedure may not be accurate and some are from my own memories enhanced/corrected/supplemented by a few researches and video viewings on the subject. Thanks again.


	11. Supported

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bring updates! Two chapters in one go. I was aiming for three but I lost steam. LOL
> 
> Anyway, Happy 2016 Death in Paradise fanfiction authors and fans alike! I hope this year would be prosperous and wonderful for all of us.
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback and kudos. They are much appreciated. :-)
> 
> The two chapters were inspired by The Golden Girls. I think I've watched some episode re-runs of this show in some channel a while back. What I remember most about these old ladies are their banter, witty remarks, funny comebacks and of course, their friendship. But they were just too hilarious for words. I grew up not having grandmothers so they kind of became surrogate grandmums for me. [I often wondered if my own grandmothers would have sharp tongues like Estelle Getty's character.] So here's to Betty White, Beatrice Arthur, Rue McClanahan and Estelle Getty. May the Golden Girls of Saint Marie do you justice. :-)

* * *

 

When Fidel and Catherine arrived in La Kaz, they were surprised by a throng of people gathered at the front of the closed bar. Fidel carefully parked the Defender to a curb a little ways off the bar. He looked warily at the crowd, trying to surmise what was happening. Was there a commotion that needed to be stopped?

But Catherine was unperturbed. She placed a hand on Fidel’s arm to allay his worry, smiled and nodded at the scene. She knew who they were and knew why they were there. They were her people. The locals of her adopted island who had supported her and her only child throughout their lives in Saint Marie. 

“It looks like word has traveled fast,” she managed to say to Fidel as unbidden tears lined her eyes. She took a deep breath to compose herself. It wouldn’t do to break down in tears in front of them and give them the wrong idea that Camille wasn’t doing well. She felt the need to reassure them, this large impromptu family of hers, that their daughter, their little girl, her Camille, would be alright.

In her many years of living in Saint Marie, the island and its people had been kind and generous to her. They had opened their arms and welcomed her into their community when she moved here as a young, naive wife. And while her own home and family in France shunned her for this decision, the people opened their hearts and homes to her.

When she became a mother of a daughter, they all rejoiced with her. She had no clue how to parent but the women helped and taught her along the way. It was true what they say about raising a child, it takes a village. With Camille, it took a host of island women of every age. 

And when her husband left and betrayed her, they were there to lend shoulders to cry on, to cook for her, to feed her and her child, to clean house and sit with her until she got back on her feet again. They taught her to be resilient, to embrace life as it comes with all its hurts, grief, joy and happiness. “It is what it is,” they would say. “But what matters is how you react to it.”

She had lost count of how many times that saying had comforted her in times of dire need. She may look like she had everything under control and life’s sorrows just roll over her like water but she did have her fair share of worries and fears, which were mostly for her only daughter. Still, the reminder allowed her to look at life on a positive note as she struggled as a single mother.

But when Camille was shot twice in the line of duty, this outlook was put to a terrible test. The thought of her child dying brought her unfathomable grief. But the island women stubbornly held her up. They didn’t allow her to falter. “Your child needs you now,” they said, crying with her. “If your love is the last thing that she’ll receive from you, then don’t show her your sorrow.”

The fear and despair still stayed with her albeit no longer as pronounced now as when Camille was undercover in Paris and Guadeloupe. She owed a huge favor to her friends, the Pattersons, for facilitating Camille’s transfer to Guadeloupe as an undercover police officer. She didn’t like that her daughter was still doing undercover work but it was less dangerous compared to where the police force kept sending her to in Paris.

As Catherine got off the Defender, she immediately saw Estelle Patterson, a smartly dressed woman her age, among the crowd of middle-aged and elderly island women. The women all looked at her expectantly, fear and worry evident on their faces. She moved toward them and gave them hugs and kisses in greeting while they conversed in French. Fidel stood respectfully at a distance. 

There was a collective sigh of relief and cries of gratitude as Catherine told them Camille was going to be alright. Tears flowed freely as they held onto each other. Their daughter was safe. They kissed Catherine’s tearstained cheeks as they laugh and cry at the same time. Some elderly women even gave Fidel a hug. 

As the news gradually sunk in, they composed themselves and prepared for the tasks at hand. Catherine let them in the bar but Fidel excused himself.

“Catherine, I’ll be back. I just need to get the Chief’s briefcase, coat and tie at the station. Would you be alright?” he asked her.

“Yes, Fidel. Come back soon. We’ll have food ready for you,” Catherine told him. Fidel nodded and went on his way. She went in the bar to fill the women in on what she needed.

“So we would be needing food, right?” asked Estelle, her longtime friend and Camille’s godmother. “What kind of food, Catherine?”

“Nothing too heavy,” she said. “Maybe small sandwiches and some fruit salad for our police officers and Chief of Police.” 

Some women had already set out to do the chores she left behind when Richard came to pick her up hours earlier, washing the dishes, emptying the trash bins and cleaning the tables. Others had started to prepare the sandwiches. The elderly women simply sat comfortably in a corner and watched the women sagely. Their wisdom and age had earned them the positions of silent overseers of this little community. 

“What else do you need, Catherine? Are you sure the sandwiches would be enough? Will Camille be needing anything to eat, too?” a short, middle-aged woman with a cherubic face named Sandrine asked her.

“Yes, Sandrine. Make sure they are little sandwiches. So they are easy to pack and smuggle in the hospital,” called out Marthe, one of the elderly women, who seemed to be taller than most in the group and sported a colorful turban on her head. The other women sitting with her nodded in agreement.

“These days the hospital doesn’t take too kindly of you bringing nutritious food in for the sick. They want you to get the food from their cafeteria,” added Babet, another elderly woman with a gap-toothed smile and curly white hair. 

“That is true. Have you tasted the food from their cafeteria?” asked the old woman beside her, who was wearing thick glasses and holding a cane. “Ugh. It doesn’t taste anything like food. I should know I was just there a couple of days ago. My son bought food from there. Oh horrible stuff! It tasted like leather shoes.”

“Adele, how do you know what leather shoes taste like? Have you eaten one?” cheekily shouted a stout woman from the kitchen. Everyone laughed.

“Nanette, if you spent your time exercising instead of running your cheeky mouth all over the place, maybe your feet would fit into those leather shoes,” retorted Adele, quite annoyed. Everyone snickered and Nanette blushed, terribly chastised.

“But Adele, this is the tropics. Nobody wears leather shoes on this island,” pointed out Vera, who was the youngest of the elderly women, wearing a pair of quirky wooden earrings and a bead necklace. 

“There’s one,” quipped Marthe. “That British man, the Chief of Police. He seems to wear them everywhere. Even the beach. Only a crazy person would wear leather shoes on the beach. What with all that sand and salt water. It will ruin a perfectly good pair of leather shoes.”

“Marthe, Richard is not crazy. He is just different,” Catherine gently pointed out. She knew the old woman was just joking but she still felt the need to defend him. He was, after all, doing a good gesture for her and her daughter right at this moment.

“Oh I know, Catherine. I didn’t mean totally cray cray,” Marthe said as the room burst into cackles at her use of an obviously young people word. “I mean, just odd crazy,” Marthe smiled at her. “He is a good man, after all. He solved the murder of Angelique’s daughter and brought peace to Angelique’s soul.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the elderly women. Catherine secretly chuckled to herself. If only Richard knew that he had a group of senior citizens as fans, he would be beside himself with embarrassment. Speaking of Richard, she needed to brew his tea and make coffee for the women. 

She moved to the kitchen to boil water but Estelle stopped her. “Catherine, let me do that. I’ll also make coffee for these women. As for you, you need to put together clothes and essentials for your stay at the hospital and for Camille.”

Catherine smiled at her best friend on the island. She could always count on her to be on top of things. She listened to the women chatting amiably, their French creole accent thick and comforting. The company and support of these women were a welcome respite from the dreary hospital room she left her daughter in. It was no surprise that she had momentarily forgotten what she came back to La Kaz for.

But the feeling of needing to go back to Camille nagged at her. What if something happened and she was not there for her? Not that she didn’t trust Richard, but she simply wanted to always be present if any situation arises (which she prayed won’t happen at all). She nodded at Estelle and went quietly upstairs to gather the things she needed. 

Meanwhile, the women busied themselves with the chores around the bar. She could hear their banter and bickering as she folded clothes and placed them inside a big summer bag. She gathered toiletries and threw them in the bag as well. She looked around, mentally ticking off her checklist when she remembered something. 

She went through her drawers and pulled out a soft, cotton blanket with baby pink camellia flowers printed on it. It was Camille’s favorite childhood blanket. The one she often used to comfort herself when her childhood dreams were besieged by monsters or by her longing for her father who went away for good. It was still pristine looking and beautiful even though it was stained with her daughter’s tears.

She reverently folded the material but couldn’t help holding it close to her so tightly. She sat on the edge of her bed and cried silently. She had been through this before and each time she couldn’t help but feel that it would be the day she would bury her daughter. Perhaps, this was the curse all parents have—the constant fear of their children dying before their time, before them.

A hand gripped her shoulder and she looked up. It was Estelle with tears running down her cheeks. She was checking up on her. She sat down beside Catherine and hugged her. “It’s alright to cry,” Estelle said gently. Catherine just nodded.

“It never gets easier, Estelle,” she said between sobs. “I thought, I’ve been through this, twice in fact, and they were worse situations than this. But how come I don’t feel relieved? How come I’m more fearful than before?” She struggled to find the words to describe the horrible feeling.

“I just want her to live a long life. Longer than me. But I’m beginning to think that as long as she stays in her job as a police officer, I am not assured of that,” she sighed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“Is that why you keep setting her up on those blind dates?” Estelle said, her tone flippant and teasing. “In the hopes that she’ll find a man to settle with, perhaps leave the force and have a family of her own?”

Catherine looked at her in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh please, do you think I’ll be the last one to know about these things,” Estelle replied. “Every time my goddaughter calls me to see how I’m doing, she’ll complain about it in passing.” 

“She didn’t tell me that she didn’t like going on those blind dates,” Catherine said, sounding a bit slighted.

Estelle rolled her eyes. “Catherine, Camille may be a fiercely independent young woman but she’ll always be your very loving and loyal daughter. She couldn’t tell you because she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, she should have. I would have understood,” said Catherine, her brows furrowed and her mouth already in a pout. But she knew Estelle was right. Her daughter was very loving, loyal and full of empathy. She had probably put herself in her maman’s shoes and thought it best to go on the blind dates to make her happy.

She heaved a sigh as the sadness washed over her again. “The truth is, the constant possibility of her dying scares me so much, Estelle. I could take my husband leaving me a million times over my own child dying before she could fully enjoy her life. I would die heartbroken. Like Angelique.”

“Hush! Don’t invoke the dead in the matters of the living,” reprimanded Estelle. She looked at the pensive face of her old friend who had been through a lot. She didn’t fully understand this parental fear, as she and Selwyn didn’t have children, but she knew the deep meaning behind her friend’s words. Camille, to her, had been like a daughter. She, too, wanted her godchild to have a very long life.

“Catherine, remember Adriana? The mambo asogwe we saw and talked to in one those Erzulie festivals of long ago,” she asked Catherine.

“You mean, when we were just a couple of young, naive and very-much-in-love wives of sometimes intelligent, sometimes idiotic men?” Catherine replied, looking wistful at the memory.

“Yes. Remember what she said when we asked her about our futures?” Estelle asked.

“Oh I don’t think her predictions about our futures were true and accurate anyway,” Catherine said dismissively.

“No, not that. I know her predictions were always rubbish,” Estelle said. “But there was one wise thing she said to us that I’m sure you remember quite vividly.”

Catherine furrowed her brows in concentration. She couldn’t remember it well, probably because of old age she thought to herself. “Um, something about the present, I think,” she guessed. 

“Exactly!” said Estelle triumphantly. “After giving us a thorough scolding for goodness what, I can’t remember now, she told us, why are you lot so worried about the future when there are more things to worry and care about in the present?”

“Well, she was one grumpy old lady,” Catherine conceded.

“No. You’re missing the point, Catherine,” Estelle was getting a bit exasperated now. “Do you remember how you interpreted what she said? You’re the one who explained it to me when I asked what was it all about.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. I told you what she meant was, nothing good will come out of worrying about the future. We each must focus on the present,” Catherine said, remembering the time fondly.

“Exactly!” Estelle said again as she smiled widely at her friend’s slow but good memory, her tearstained cheeks creasing. “How is Camille right now?”

“She’s out of danger. But the doctor said she’ll undergo a bit of recovery and rehabilitation from her injuries,” said Catherine readily.

Estelle shook her head at this. “That’s not the answer to my question, Catherine? How is Camille right now, at this very moment?”

Catherine furrowed her brow again. She couldn’t seem to catch what her best friend was trying to point out. But she tried just the same, “She’s going to be alright.”

“Yes,” encouraged Estelle. “Now think. Focus on what’s the most important thing about her at this present time, Catherine? The very one thing that you should be grateful for here and now.”

Catherine stared at her friend in disbelief, unable to process what her mother’s heart had known all along. At last, she realized what that important thing was. Her eyes began to fill with tears again as she bit her lower lip to stave off a desperate wail. She was trying to grasp at the words she wanted to say and when she finally found her voice a strangled sob came out with it. “That...that she’s alive.”

She burst into tears and Estelle held and rocked her. “She’s alive, Catherine. That’s what matters right now,” she whispered to her dear friend amidst their tears of relief and gratitude. Catherine chided herself thoroughly for despairing about something that didn’t happen. She feared about Camille’s death while she was still alive. She resolved to apologize to Camille when she gets back to the hospital. She resolved to live in the present with her, savouring every moment she could. 

“I’m unworthy to be her mother, Estelle,” she stated, shamefaced and dejected.

“Well, it’s too late for that. Your daughter is already grown and has a mind of her own,” Estelle told her bluntly. “And she’s the only one who can show to the world whether you’ve been unworthy or not as a mother. But so far, she’s doing a great job of reflecting her mother’s worth. Don’t you think so?”

Catherine chuckled audibly as she released herself from Estelle’s comforting embrace. “Thank you, my friend, for always getting me to see things from a different point-of-view. You and the women downstairs...” at this her voice faltered a little. “You are all my rock.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I think we better save Sergeant Best from his admirers,” Estelle told her, a knowing smile set on her face. “He arrived earlier and is probably being fed too much sandwiches and fruit salad for his own good. Also, let’s not forget that our golden girls can be quite attentive.” She winked and added in a mock whisper, “They just love men in uniform.”

Catherine laughed her usual laugh as she nodded at Estelle. “Yes, Juliet might not like it at all if we leave him to fend off the old ladies by himself. I know how persistent they can be with their innocent requests.”

They stood up and Catherine inspected her summer bag again. She placed Camille’s blanket in it. “I’ll go on ahead and see if we’ve got the food and coffee packed and ready. Come downstairs, you need to eat, too, you know,” said Estelle.

“I’ll be right down in a minute or two. Oh can you put a kettle of water to boil, Estelle. I need to make Richard’s tea and bring it to him in a carafe,” Catherine told her. 

“Oh do you want me to do that, too?” Estelle offered. 

“No. Don’t worry about it. I can do it quick before we go. Besides, it will give me time to eat,” she said. She didn’t want to tell Estelle that it was only her tea that Richard would drink without complaining or grumbling.

“Alright. We’ll see you downstairs,” said Estelle as she went out of the room. 

Catherine checked items off her mental checklist again. She looked at a picture of her and Camille on her desk. She grabbed it and put it in her bag. She went to Camille’s room and found a framed photo of Camille with Richard and the rest of the team at La Kaz. 

It was not the best photo Catherine had taken but she was really aiming for a candid, spontaneous shot. In it, she could see the wide, open smiles of Fidel, Dwayne and Camille as they raise their glasses in their Chief’s honor. Richard, despite being embarrassed by their attention, had that rare lopsided smile that reached his eyes. She saw the genuine affection between them. Perhaps, Camille saw it, too, for she had it framed and placed prominently in her room.

Catherine smiled at the thought. She was grateful that her daughter had women and men in her life that cared about her so much. Estelle was right. The most important thing to focus on right now was that Camille was alive. 

She took the photo and placed it inside her summer bag. She looked around Camille’s room one last time and figured she had all she needed to make the hospital room a little more bearable for her daughter in the coming days.

* * *

 


	12. Teased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fidel is at the mercy of The Golden Girls of Saint Marie. How will he cope?

* * *

 When Fidel came back to La Kaz from the station, he was quickly ushered to a seat and brought sandwiches and a cup of coffee. He gave the beaming women a shy nod in thanks and ate the offering quite heartily.

The elderly women watched him with glee as he ate, which made him a bit uncomfortable. He tried to make conversation. “This is a tasty sandwich and a very good coffee,” he said awkwardly. “How about you ladies? Aren’t you eating, too?”

“Oh don’t mind us,” said Vera, jiggling her earrings as she speak. “We’re trying to maintain our svelte figures.”

“You mean, we can’t put on too much weight or else our aching joints will collapse underneath us,” pointed out Adele, making the elderly women snicker in amusement.

“Oh Adele. Why do you have to be such a wet blanket?” said Babet. “We are NOT way past our prime yet. If we look slim, we still can get some.” At this, everyone roared with laughter.

“Get some at your age, Babet?!” Adele looked aghast. She just couldn’t help herself. “Look here Marthe, she is what you call totally cray. Who want to make love to a slim, shriveled up prune? Don’t be letting the public hear you say that, Babet, or you might go to jail for indecent thought. Ain’t that right, Officer?”

“Um...ah...” Fidel clearly didn’t know what to say. He was trying hard not to be embarrassed but failing miserably. 

“Oi, don’t rope our handsome police officer into your shameless conversation, you two,” admonished Marthe. “Look at him. He has grown up to be a fine gentleman and a sergeant at that. Your mother would be proud.”

Fidel was surprised. He didn’t think these women would know his mother, who had passed away when he was young. Although, he did recall seeing some of them at his mother’s funeral but he wasn’t 100% sure if it was them. He gave Marthe a shy smile and asked, “You know my mother?”

“Of course, dear boy. In an island as small as this, you get to know almost all the people who lived in it rather quickly by simply gathering in one place. Unlike, young folks these days, who have their Internet and mobile phone contraption but didn’t seem to know each other, and they live on the same street!” said Marthe incredulously.

“Marthe, you’re going off-topic again,” reminded Vera. “Sergeant Fidel asked if you know Rosaline. Now get on with your story and refrain from your side commentaries. We’d love to hear that story, too,” she said with a mischievous wink.

Fidel had a suspicion that the women seemed to already know this particular story. But he politely remained silent. He felt that anything he would say in the presence of this group of women would be forever held against him.

Marthe stuck her tongue out to Vera in mock annoyance. “Oh it’s not like you...” she stopped herself as she glanced back at the smiling young officer. “Anyway, where was I? Yes, I know your mother way back. She was a lovely young woman, full of life and vigour. She loved dancing. Not jiggly dancing, mind you, proper dancing. Rumba, salsa, cha-cha. We enjoyed going to the dances together. But her mother didn’t approve of her going alone, so we posed as her chaperones since we are older than her. Isn’t that right, Adele and Babet?”

Both elderly women nodded wistfully as they remembered the good old times. “Well, Adele was always jealous of me because the men always ask me for second, third and fourth dances,” said Babet, clearly as revenge for Adele’s quip against her earlier. 

“I did not!” Adele protested loudly. “The reason the men liked to dance with you so many times was that you dressed like a harlot.” Before Babet could object, Adele stood up to illustrate exactly what she meant. “Like this,” she tugged at her dress’ collar with a finger and pulled it down to her cleavage. “And like this,” as she brought one side of the helm of her dress above her thigh forming it into a provocative slit. Everyone laughed uproariously. 

Fidel immediately closed his eyes, feeling that somehow if he saw Adele’s actions it would be like disrespecting his own mother or grandmother. He was beginning to wish that Catherine would be back soon so he could be saved from the awkward situation he was in.

“Oh Lord, put those away Adele. You are much to old to be flaunting your assets like that, especially in front of Rosaline’s handsome boy here,” Vera said, clearly having a good laugh as she wiped her tears away. “As Marthe was saying, your mother was a wonderful, funny young girl and a very patient, doting mother at that.”

Marthe picked up where Vera left off. “Oh I remember one time, she was running down the street with your underpants in her hands, all flustered and worried. I said to her: ‘Oi girl, what are you doing running around with your child’s underpants?’ 

She came up to me and said: ‘Oh Marthe, that boy escaped again without his underpants on. Now he’s running the street with his thing hanging out. Whatever am I going to do with him?’ Apparently, the three-year-old you loved to parade around the neighborhood pantless.” 

“I told her: ‘Girl, just let him be. One of these days, an ant will bite his thing and he’ll come to you, crying for his pants. So don’t worry about it.’ And true enough, you came to her wanting to put pants on because ants feasted on your little pecker. She couldn’t stop laughing when she told us about that,” said Marthe, her voice cracking at the fond memory of her young friend. 

“Oh if your mother could see you now, a hardworking police sergeant and a responsible family man. She would have been very proud of you,” Babet said with feeling.

Fidel’s eyes misted. He had heard stories from his aunts and uncles about his mother but not one from other women on the island she was friends with. It was a silly and embarrassing story but he found it quite endearing. It made him wonder if she had shared more of his childhood shenanigans with these elderly women.

“Just make sure your achievements don’t go into you head, okay?” Adele’s voice cut into his reverie. “Remember, WE know what you really look like.” She gave him a teasing grin while tapping the side of her nose. Everyone in the room laughed, while Fidel placed a hand over his face and just shook his head. The embarrassment was just too much to bear.

“Ladies, please, don’t embarrass Sergeant Best too much. My husband wants the members of the police force to be able to look you in the eyes the next morning as they work the streets of Honore,” said Estelle as she emerged from the kitchen, smiling widely at him.

Fidel didn’t know if he should be grateful for the appearance of the Commissioner’s wife or not. For one thing, she probably heard the story whilst she was in the kitchen and for another, she would have most likely known about it for quite some time. Now he was fervently wishing Catherine would hurry up so they could leave. He didn’t think he could last much longer.

“We were just telling him a story about his mother, Estelle,” reassured Marthe. “Fidel, dear, tell Juliet to bring your Rosie to the senior’s center on bingo night. We haven’t seen the two of them lately and we’re missing them terribly.”

“You know my wife, too?” asked Fidel dumbfounded. 

Marthe just leveled him a look as the other elderly women sitting across from him raised their eyebrows. “Of course, we do. We’ve known Juliet’s mother for a very long time. Besides, nobody on this island escapes our acquaintance. It’s a small island,” she said smugly.

Fidel shuddered inwardly. He didn’t know the elderly women of his island held such a power. He thought it was a myth, an island legend, but here he was talking to the living ‘network’ of Saint Marie. It was no wonder Catherine held such a vast knowledge of the past and present happenings on the island. She knew the core group right here. He resisted the urge to gulp and just nodded to Marthe. “I will. She’s been busy but I’m sure she’ll be happy to bring Rosie and play bingo with you, ladies.”

Just then, Catherine stepped out of the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. Fidel felt relieved. “I hope you ladies didn’t tell him stories about Juliet when she was a child. She will never forgive me if she finds out I’ve let you do that.”

“Oh there’s nothing embarrassing about anyone’s childhood stories. They're cute stories. These young people always worried about the small stuffs. Wait until they get old like us. Now THAT would be more embarrassing. Stories of lost dentures, soggy diapers, bowel movements...” said Adele, finding amusement at her own joke.

“Oh my God, Adele! Stop before you choke us to death with your litany of old age problems,” shouted Babet as she covered her ears with her hands. Once again, everyone fell into a giggling fit while Fidel sat with a forced smile on his face. He had no clue whether he should join in the laughter or not. He looked at Catherine for what to do next. She gave him a slight nod as if she understood what he wanted. She went back to the kitchen to get the packed sandwiches, fruit salad and a carafe of coffee. 

“Here, Fidel. Bring this to the police car if you please. I’m just about finished brewing Richard’s tea and then we can go back to the hospital,” she said to Fidel, who stood up hurriedly to take the stuffs off of her hands. 

Fidel just nodded, relieved at having something to do and being able to get away from the group of laughing women. It was not that he didn’t like talking with them, he just felt a little out of place somehow. “Ladies, thank you for the sandwich and the coffee,” he said amiably, giving them a charming smile before he left.

The group of women murmured their reply. They couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of Fidel’s smiling face. He truly was handsome, they all agreed. Too bad, he was already taken, they sighed in dismay. Catherine decided it was time to interrupt their thoughts.

“Thank you everyone for coming here and doing this special thing for me again,” she said trying to smile brightly. “It seemed that I’m always making you take care of me and my child.”

“Hah! Knowing you? You would have said nothing to us and would probably tell us after the fact. If it hadn’t been for Estelle’s call, we wouldn’t have known that Camille got hurt and is in the hospital. Now why would you do that to us, girl?” Marthe reprimanded. “Camille is our child, too, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Marthe,” replied Catherine, looking contrite. “I didn’t want to inconvenienced you. It seemed we’ve bothered you enough.”

“Nonsense,” said Adele. “There’s no such thing as being a bother to family. Now when are you going to put it in that French head of yours that you are family, that we are your family. We love you and Camille. We would do everything for you.”

Catherine swallowed hard as tears started forming in her eyes again. “I know, Adele. And I love all of you, too. It’s just that you’ve done so much for us and I don’t want to keep being a burden to you.”

“You’ve done so much for us, too, Catherine, now stop being guilty and let us help you,” said Marthe as she placed an arm around Catherine’s shoulders and gave them a short, tight squeeze. “Now enough, we know you’re grateful. Let’s talk about schedules and shifts.”

“Schedules and shifts?” Catherine asked, not sure what it was all about.

“Yes, schedules of our visits to the hospital and shifts to be with Camille when you need to tend the bar,” said Sandrine. “Estelle told us we could also help around here if you show us what to do.”

“But I’m not going to open the bar until Camille’s fully recovered,” Catherine said, still a little bit confused at what they were on about.

“Really, Catherine? How long will her recovery and rehabilitation take? Weeks? Months?” asked Marthe. “So you’re willing to close the bar down for a long time?”

“I don’t know how long it will take for Camille to recover. She wasn’t shot so I’m assuming it won’t be too long like the last time,” she replied, still a bit disheartened by the thought.

“And during that time, you were also able to open the bar while tending to Camille’s needs. Am I right?” Marthe probed again.

“Yes, with your ladies‘ help, I managed to get by,” said Catherine. “I should do that again, I suppose...”

“Not suppose, Catherine,” Adele said rather emphatically. “You have to keep your bar open. There’s no supposing, there’s no choosing. You simply have to. The economy is not very good and competition here is very stiff. Do you think your customers would stick around if you keep your bar closed for too long. They will go elsewhere and where will that find you financially?”

Catherine thought about this in her head. The old women were right, she couldn’t afford to close La Kaz down. While Camille would probably be on paid leave, she didn’t want to dip her fingers into her daughter’s money to pay for her living expenses and the bar’s needs. Unlike a decade or so ago, running her business had been tougher now with all the hotels opening high-end bars and whatnot to entice even local patrons away. 

“We can’t offer you money. But we can offer you our time. So take it,” encouraged Vera.

Catherine just nodded. There were no words to describe her gratitude to these women, who always went out of their way to help her out in her time of need. She wished she could repay them but for now, she went to them one by one and gave them a tight hug and a grateful kiss on each cheek. What she couldn’t say in words, she hoped she had conveyed with her warm hugs.

“Oh don’t make me cry. I’ve enough crying for one day,” complained Babet. “My poor old heart couldn’t take any more of this emotion. Now you shut up, Adele.” She said quickly as she spied Adele opening her mouth.

The old woman adjusted her glasses and shrugged. “What?! I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“As for the schedules and shifts,” said Estelle. “Let Catherine work that out for us. It’s still early days. La Kaz just closed half day today so hopefully it won’t be too detrimental to her business. I’m sure by tomorrow, we’ll have things worked out. Right, Catherine?”

“Yes, Estelle. Thank you,” said Catherine. “I would probably close La Kaz tomorrow as well so I can work on the scheduling while I’m at the hospital. But I’ll immediately phone Estelle once I’m done with it.”

“Sounds good?” Marthe asked the group of women. There was a collective agreement as each nodded their consent. They all stood up to go outside to see Catherine off. She was the last one out and locked the door behind her. She smiled warmly at the group and waved goodbye. 

She crossed the street and went toward the Defender. Fidel was already in the driver’s seat, waiting for her. As she put down the summer bag on the floor and secured Richard’s tea carafe in the cup holder, she noticed there were several bouquets of flowers on the back seat of the vehicle. 

“Fidel, where did you get all these flowers?” she asked the young officer. “Did you buy all these for Camille?”

“Oh no. It’s not from me, Catherine,” Fidel said hurriedly as he started the Defender and made a U-turn. “I found them by the door of the station. They are from the people in the marketplace. I’ve also found some get-well cards with them.”

“Really?” she asked in disbelief. This was the first time Camille had received get-well flowers and cards from the people of Honore. Coming back to Saint Marie, working as a detective sergeant and helping solve murders had probably endeared Camille to them. Not to mention her face had become a familiar sight on its streets. She laughed at the thought of Camille bickering publicly with Richard. She should make a point to thank each one of them one of these days.

“Yes. Like you said, word got out fast,” said Fidel. “That Camille got hurt and that she was in the hospital.”

“Do you think they know the details of how she got hurt?” asked Catherine, a little bit worried that an information leak might affect the prosecution of the criminal who hurt Camille. “Richard would have a fit if he found out.”

“He sure will. But it can’t be helped. There were a lot of witnesses and plus, we had to ask bystanders to help us out. There’s bound to be news spreading by word-of-mouth about it,” explained Fidel. He, too, wasn’t happy about the incident getting out. But he also knew that what happened to Camille was unprecedented. Like Dwayne said, no Honore police officer had been hurt that badly before. It probably came as a shock to the locals who prided themselves as a peaceful, happy-go-lucky people, living in an island paradise.

He sighed. “Well, it’s a small island.” 

Catherine couldn’t help but smile at what he said. “Yes, it is, Fidel. But I’m thankful...” she said thoughtfully as she looked outside the window, catching glimpses of the beautiful shores, the quiet waves and the colorful houses. “...so very thankful that I live in it.”

Fidel gave her a quick glance and nodded his agreement.

* * *

 

 


	13. Distressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be two chapter updates for this story. My little experiment worked and I was able to squeeze some fanfic juice out of my brain after I wrote a new R+C fanfic story. LOL. My brain is hella weird that way. But I think I went a little overboard this time: 4,000-words in just this chapter and 3,000-words in the other! Whoa! I never thought I could write that long (well long for me, that is). Now I'm brain-drained. Heh. How do you like that segue? I just had to insert it in there somewhere. ;-)
> 
> Anyway, I spent a lot of time thinking about Commissioner Patterson in these chapters. He's a character that I found hard to get a background feel for. What is his motivation? Why does he do the things he does? How is he really as a person? What his family life is really like? What does he really feel for his team? 
> 
> In DiP Seasons 1 and 2, we were not really given definite information about these, right? We only got a few clues/hints here and there? And I think the following DiP seasons gave him more character development. But I don't really watch the other seasons diligently. So...what I really want to say is that it was quite difficult to write about him extensively. This man is an enigma, y'all. But I hope in these chapters, I've given him some depth through the original characters I came up with to support him and make him somewhat dimensional and human. Does that make sense? I hope so. 
> 
> Speaking of original characters, I got a few inspiration from the US political TV drama The West Wing when I came up with some of them. Margaret Peres reminded me of Dolores Langdingham, Bartlet's executive secretary for some reason. Perhaps because of her age and caring demeanour. While you only read a little of Sabine Picot, I see her as resembling the character of Bartlet's press secretary C.J. Cregg. Of course, they are just loosely-based inspirations and 'feeling'. But it's just how I write, my imagination needed something to anchor itself on to get going. :-) 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading my story and for leaving kudos and feedback. I truly, madly, deeply appreciate it.

* * *

“How is she holding up? I see. I’m glad to hear that. Thank you for getting the womenfolk to help her. She needs all the support she can get. I know you’re the only who can coordinate such an operation on short notice. Yes. I called the Inspector earlier. It’s still early days and complications might arise from her injuries,” at this Selwyn Patterson, police commissioner of the Royal Saint Marie Police Force, sighed heavily. “But she’s alive. Let’s be thankful for that. We will all make sure she will recover from this ordeal.”

Selwyn took a sip of the brandy in his hand. He didn’t usually drink something hard before bedtime but this day had been extraordinarily stressful and worrying. Besides, he needed something strong to calm the still seething rage at the pit of his stomach. “She’s on the way to the hospital? That means you’re on your way home then. No, I will wait for you. And yes, I’m only drinking one glass. Thank you, dear. I’ll see you when you get home. Take care.”

He looked at the time and decided to speed dial a number. “Good evening, Inspector,” he said momentarily. “Yes, I know,” he smiled when he heard the Englishman blustering on the other line. “Thank you, Inspector. How is she?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Is it serious? I see. That’s good to know. For her, this is only the first day of so many challenging days to come. But I’m glad your team is holding it together. You know, your team is made of strong stuff and you are all indispensable to me.” 

He smiled at the Englishman’s enthusiastic response. Two years ago, Inspector Poole wasn’t as enthused about the island and his team as he was now. But it seemed this ordeal gave him some sort of realization into the true value of his team members. Who would have thought? 

“I’ve arranged additional personnel from a nearby town’s police department to help your team guard the suspect at the hospital. This way, you and your police officers can continue your investigation unhindered,” he said as he got down to business. “They will go on shifts until the suspect is well enough to be questioned and transferred to regular cells. The first police constable will arrive in an hour, please coordinate with Sergeant Nicholas Fanchon about the schedules to make sure this particular suspect is guarded at all times. He will call you in half an hour.”

He nodded absentmindedly as he heard his chief of police stammered his thanks. Before he let him go, “Inspector, I don’t need to order you to go home and get some rest, do I?” He was given a rather quick and bumbling response, to which he simply said: “Good.” 

He placed the phone on a table and walked to his hilltop home’s veranda, overlooking the shores and the lighted towns of Saint Marie. A gentle sea breeze wafted his direction as he cradled the glass of brandy in his hand. This had been a very bad day for him and his favorite team of police officers. 

When he received initial word that one of his police officers got hurt during an arrest. He was gripped with a momentary fear for the worst. It was the only time that he cursed the state of his small police force, which was without efficient communications network, without enough personnel for backup, without even an extra vehicle for emergencies such as this one. How could help be immediately sent to a down police officer?

Of course, he was never naive of the fact that police work would always be a very risky profession even in the relatively peaceful island of Saint Marie. He experienced his fair share of violence and casualties as a young officer. He saw colleagues getting maimed or shot or worst, dying in the line of duty. And they were horrific and frightening. It made him acutely conscious that every day he went out on the streets to do some policing could be his last.

But his promotion through the ranks kept him off the beat. He disliked doing desk work but if it meant mitigating the risk, he took it wholeheartedly. He felt guilty at first, but in time it made him aware that he was now in a position to help keep other officers plying the streets safe as best he could. 

Alas, being a police commissioner of a very small island had its ups and downs. The main ‘down’ was the very meager budget and the not so stellar facilities and logistics. Still, he managed to diplomatically raise additional funding for his police force through carefully built networks of supporters and connections. Now that their crime resolution rate had gone up, he had more weight to back up his claims for support. 

His team of officers needed better equipment, facilities, vehicles and additional personnel to ensure their police work could be done efficiently and safely both for their own and for the public they serve. He knew it was a grandiose plan, some might even think it ambitious of someone like him leading a small police force in a small, seemingly insignificant island. But he didn’t care. The island thrived in foreign tourism and if there was no semblance of peace and security, nobody would come. Businesses would fall into ruins, the island economy would tank and the community will suffer as well.

Always sly and cunning, he was able to leverage on that fact. “If you want to keep this place safe, then help keep my people safe,” he would say in one of his fundraising campaigns for the force. His own people did not know the kind of lengths he would go through to increase their budgets, he didn’t need them to know. 

Except for the occasional socializing and ‘public relations’ help from his senior officers, he wouldn’t dare ask them to do anything more. As far as he was concerned, they needed only to focus on their duties to keep the community safe and to be able to go back home to their families alive and in one piece. He would do the rest. 

So when the news came that one of his officers was down. He didn’t waste time ordering his secretary to contact the hospital. He knew the administrator and had her request to have available doctors and staff ready to receive a wounded police officer in the emergency. He didn’t know who among the four at the Honore police station was injured but he wanted them treated right away.

“Margaret, tell them to contact us as soon as they have information who the injured officer is,” he said, setting to work on his desk computer to open a couple of files. He was getting ready the paperwork for insurance and in case a budget from the emergency fund set up for injured officers and their families were needed to offset costs. The fund was a plan by his predecessor that he brought to reality through his fundraising campaigns during his tenure. 

He hoped that no such fund existed but he knew deep down that it was a realistic and practical option. He didn’t want his officers or their families scrambling for money to pay for hospital bills not covered by insurance. This would just be another heartache they had to contend with apart from the uncertainties that their injuries presented. He wanted to at least spare them from further anxiety.

“Also, Margaret, please call Vincent Hardy,” he said as he sent documents to the printer. “I would need to have a word with him as he’s the chairperson of the budget committee. Or perhaps, meet with him in person. Anyway, find out his availability. If I could talk to him on the phone today that would be most efficient.”

“Yes, sir,” said Margaret Peres, an amiable woman in her mid-sixties. She had been the Commissioner’s secretary for over a decade, a very astute and smart woman who knew the ins and outs of Saint Marie’s political and economic workings. She had been an institution in the government house and served many a successful government officials. She was also instrumental in some of the Commissioner’s fundraising campaigns for the Royal Saint Marie Police Force.

“Hello, Nancy. How are you? Is Chairperson Hardy in?” she said on the phone. “I see. Would you call me when he becomes available, the Police Commissioner wanted to talk with him. Yes, today. Tell him, it’s very important. Thank you. I’ll wait for your call. Bye.”

As soon as she placed the receiver down, the phone rang again. “Office of Police Commissioner Patterson. Yes?” She paused as if trying to digest a difficult-to-grasp information. “I understand.” Margaret placed the receiver back quietly, her mouth in a thin line. She quickly recovered and went to the Commissioner’s office. The man was huddled by the office printer, carefully collating the printed documents. 

This was what Margaret liked about Selwyn Patterson. He wasn’t the type of boss who readily delegates menial tasks to others. If he could do such a task himself, he would do it, provided there was no higher priority job he needed to address. But it didn’t mean he was lenient on his staff, it was just that he preferred them to diligently work on jobs of utmost importance and bigger responsibility. 

“Sir?” she said, calling his attention. “Yes?” he said without looking up from what he was doing. “It’s Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, sir.” 

The Commissioner looked at her as if willing her to clarify further. “The police officer who was injured. It’s Camille, sir.” He nodded in understanding and seemed to pause momentarily but quickly said: “Did the hospital say anything about her condition?”

“No, sir. The ambulance dispatch sent the hospital the information while on the way to transporting her. They said Detective Inspector Richard Poole is riding with them, too,” explained Margaret. 

“I see,” he said, his face stoic. “Margaret, could you make sure all these paperwork are in order. Can you look up Detective Sergeant Bordey’s insurance information on the database and have it ready. If we wait for the central HR to do these things, we’ll be barraged with red tape and I really don’t want to go through that right now.” He handed Margaret the stack of papers he printed.

“Also, Chairperson Hardy is still in a meeting. But Nancy will call me as soon as he’s done, so you can talk to him over the phone,” Margaret added.

“Thank you, Margaret,” Selwyn said as he made him way back to his desk.

“Are you alright, sir?” she asked tentatively.

He looked at her and gave her a forced smile: “No, I’m not, Margaret. This is the third time that my goddaughter has been in a hospital for injuries sustained as a police officer. So I am very worried for her.” 

Margaret knew only too well how heavy and meaningful those words were. Like the Commissioner, she had known Camille and her mother for a very long time. They were practically family. Margaret had seen her grow up to be a capable and ambitious police recruit. She quickly noticed the young woman’s potential despite being feisty and assertive. Camille was smart, skillful and quick to take action. “She would go places,” she told the Commissioner and he agreed. True enough, Camille was chosen to go to Paris for police training and graduated top of her class. Her mother, godparents and Margaret couldn’t been prouder of her. 

No one in government house knew about the Commissioner being Camille’s godfather except for Margaret. If it was known, there would definitely be nasty rumours that would crop up about favoritism and nepotism. So it was agreed that nothing would be said about the matter and Margaret also thought that it was for the best. 

She was also aware that Camille felt the need to distance herself from her godfather’s office so as not to burden him in case people got wind of that relationship. During one of her official visits at the Commissioner’s office when she was assigned in Paris, Camille had confided in her that she wanted to rise in rank without her godfather’s help.

“It’s not that I’m being ungrateful. I will always owe him for inspiring and supporting me when I joined the force. Without him, I wouldn’t be here really,” said Camille over coffee with her at the government house’s cafeteria. “It’s just...I don’t want to ruin his reputation and his office. He had done a lot for the island and the police force. I would hate it if bad gossip destroy all his hard work. Besides, I want to strike out on my own and make him proud.”

Margaret couldn’t believe the level of self-awareness for one so young. But she knew Camille was mature for her age and very independent. “Dear, he is already proud of you. So very proud. We all are,” she said.

“I know, Margaret. Thank you.” Camille smiled as she gave Margaret’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “But I want him to be proud of me, not as his goddaughter, but as a fellow police officer.” 

When she saw the determination in Camille’s eyes, she knew the young woman would make good what she set out to do. When Camille received two commendations for bravery, they were all ecstatic. She was truly one of Saint Marie’s finest. But these achievements came at a bitter price—the very real possibility of cutting Camille’s life short.

It wasn’t too long before Camille got assigned to work as an undercover police agent. Mostly, short term sting operations, said the Commissioner.“Well, if it’s Camille, she can handle it,” he said with confidence. But Margaret was secretly worried. From what she heard, undercover police work could be more dangerous than patrolling the streets as a beat cop.

When news of Camille’s first injury came, they all held their breath in fear. “It was only a graze,” said the higher-ups in Paris. “Nothing she wouldn’t recover from.” Only a graze? Margaret thought indignantly. ‘It was a bullet graze, for goodness’ sake. Were the police leaders in Paris so out of tune with the realities of police work? Somebody shot Camille with the intent of killing her and it was really fortunate that he was a bad shot and missed her,’ she said to herself.

Margaret visited Catherine after the news and saw how distraught she was. Catherine wanted to fly to Paris right away. It was understandable. Her only daughter was living so far away and doing a very dangerous job to boot. The news was every mother’s nightmare, Margaret knew it so well. She had a son who died in the army.

Camille, of course, didn’t want to be a burden and just told her mother, she was fine and she was recovering quickly. Margaret didn’t agree. “Go to her, Catherine. She may not say it outright, but she needs you. Children may want to be independent of us when they fly off the coop but there will be times they need us even though they don’t say it. It’s up to our mother’s instinct to discern it. If you feel you need to go to her, just go even if she gets mad at you for getting into her business,” she said.

So Catherine flew to Paris and stayed there until Camille got back to work. She wrote Margaret a letter while she was there, thanking her for her advice. It turned out Camille was a bit shaken by the ordeal. It was her first time being shot in an undercover scenario and it was a very jarring experience for her. 

“It took her a while to get her courage back but she did. I don’t know if I should be happy or worried about it. Camille getting her courage back, I mean. On one hand, I’m proud of her strength and bravery for going out there because duty calls. But on another, I’m afraid for her. Will we, mothers, ever find peace of mind when it comes to our children?” Catherine wrote her.

At that time, Margaret wanted to write her back something like, “Only when we are in our graves.” But she didn’t think it was an appropriate reply to an already worried mother. Once again, she knew how Catherine felt. She felt them every day back when her son left for the army a long time ago. 

“I have no clear answer to your question, Catherine,” she wrote. “But I’m sending you this poem that brought comfort to me even when my own son, James, passed away a few years ago. Do you remember him? Like you, I was afraid of his chosen profession. But that boy, like your Camille, had a strong sense of duty and a pure love to be of service to people. As I see it, we can only support them in their chosen path and trust that wherever it leads them would make them happy until the very end.”

Margaret hoped the poem and her words helped Catherine a little. From her experience, she found out things were no longer in the mothers’ control once their children entered adulthood. All they could do was to let go and pray for the best. She had quite a number of years ahead of Catherine in this department. But still, she felt inadequate. It was a good thing, she was not alone in providing support, there were other Saint Marie women—strong and wise mothers, sisters, friends, wives—and they would always have Catherine’s back.

When Camille got shot a second time, alarm bells went up in Margaret’s heart. She was aware that the same alarms were ringing in Catherine’s and her godparents’ hearts as well. For this time around, it wasn’t just a graze, it was life-threatening. They received word that Camille was in critical condition in a hospital in Madrid. It took a while for the Paris police force to transfer her to a French hospital. Meanwhile, they were all holding their breaths for any news.

The Commissioner wasted no time tapping all his connections to get them information because the news came in bits and pieces. ‘Any news was better than no news,’ thought Margaret desperately as she witnessed Catherine’s anguish at not knowing her daughter’s condition during that time. News came that Camille was still critical but already in stable condition. But the family would have to wait to visit her as the police force was still conducting its investigation on the case Camille was working on.

After three weeks, Catherine was able to go to Camille’s side at Hopital Saint-Louis in Paris. It would have been longer had it not been for the threat of legal action and diplomatic reprimand against the French police force. The Commissioner made sure to pile as much political pressure as he could gather to make it happen.

Margaret didn’t see Camille for a year but she received news of her recovery and rehabilitation. In another six months, she heard that the young woman went back to active duty but this time, she was seconded in Guadeloupe and no longer working under the Paris Police Force. She knew a crucial decision had been made about this transfer that involved Commissioner Patterson. 

At Catherine’s behest, Selwyn arranged to transfer Camille to Guadeloupe under his command. She was still doing undercover work but only short term operations close to the islands. Camille wouldn’t have agreed to the transfer had it not been for her godfather’s spiel of giving back to the island and helping to keep it safe from criminal masterminds. If she had known the truth behind her transfer, she would have been vehemently opposed to it. Margaret had a feeling that Camille wouldn’t readily accept the main reason for it all—to prolong her life.

With the murder of Honore’s Chief of Police and the secondment of a new detective inspector to replace him, the Commissioner saw an irresistible opportunity to place two very capable senior police officers on Saint-Marie itself. “Two birds with one stone,” Margaret told him in jest when they talked about the two officers’ transfer.And she remembered the wily glint in the Commissioner’s eyes as he said, “No, Margaret. It’s two birds on one island. I like the sound of that better.”

They could laugh at the situation then because everyone was happy about the news, except of course, for the two police officers involved. It looked like Detective Inspector Poole and Detective Sergeant Bordey were going to be like oil and water. But the people watching behind the scene couldn’t care less as long as Camille was relatively safe from immediate danger.

So receiving the news that Camille was hurt during an arrest proved devastating beyond measure. This was Saint-Marie, it was supposed to keep her free from harm. But Margaret knew that the dangerous realities of police work would always be there anywhere in the world. She forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand. It wouldn’t do to think of the worst case scenario when they still don’t have news on the extent of her injuries.

Margaret began reviewing the printouts the Commissioner gave her earlier when the phone rang again. “Office of Police Commissioner Patterson, Margaret speaking,” she answered. “Yes. May I put you on hold?” She replaced the receiver and walked to the Commissioner’s office. He was in front of his computer, typing. “Sir, the Chief of Police from Deshaies, Guadeloupe would like to talk you. He said it’s urgent. Shall I put him through?” 

A shadow of irritation crossed Selwyn’s face at the mention of Guadeloupe police. He had no time to go through transfer protocols with them. Not when one of his officers was injured while doing a favor for their incompetent police department. He considered not accepting the call but politeness got the better of him. He nodded at Margaret to put it through.

“His name is Detective Inspector Roy Martin, by the way,” Margaret informed him before she went back to her desk to transfer the call.

Selwyn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to be calm before he could answer the phone. When he was ready, he lifted the receiver, “Patterson here.”

“Sir, this is Detective Inspector Martin. Our department requested your assistance in apprehending wanted felons last night,” said the person on the other line. 

“Yes, Detective Inspector, I remember. Now please get to the point as I haven’t got all day,” the Commissioner said curtly.

“Yes, sir. We’ve received news that your team had successfully arrested the suspects this morning. But I haven’t heard from my counterpart at Honore regarding transfer protocols. I tried calling him through his mobile number but he is not picking up. So I wondered, sir, if you could facilitate the transfer quickly.”

Irritation immediately vanished from Selwyn’s face. Instead, it was replaced by barely contained rage. He resisted the urge to shout at DI Martin with all his might. Clearly, he outranked him but the DI wasn’t a direct subordinate so he willed himself to keep his voice even and succinct despite the deep-seated wish to give the DI a full dressing down.

“It appears that your news is incomplete, Detective Inspector,” he began through gritted teeth. “You miss the part where one of my police officers has been injured during the arrest and is being transported to the hospital as we speak.”

He could hear the DI on the other line muttering in surprise and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know about it.”

“You didn’t know?” said Selwyn, his voice slightly rising. He forced back the anger that was threatening to explode all the way down his throat. “You mean to say, you didn’t bother to get the whole story and went with the part that’s only beneficial to you and your department, is that it?” 

“I honestly didn’t know one of your team got hurt, sir. Our source didn’t report that to us,” the DI on the other line intoned, his voice clearly quivering in fear. “Only that a successful arrest was made, so to facilitate a smooth transfer, I thought I should touch base with Detective Inspector Poole. But he wasn’t available, so I thought it was a good idea to call you, sir.” 

Selwyn didn’t believe the excuse for a moment. “Then you should fire that source of yours if he or she is as incompetent as you lot,” he replied in a tone as cold and sharp as steel. He stopped himself from saying more, mostly because he didn’t want to waste any time dealing with this kind of ineptitude and callousness. The suspects were in custody, they were no longer a priority. What was foremost in his mind now was his injured police officer.

“Detective Inspector, one of my police officers might be fighting for her life at the hospital. So I hope you understand if I say I have no time to discuss protocol or jurisdiction with you right now. Your department will wait until the time I say we are ready. Understood?”

“Um, yes...yes, sir,” said the DI on the other line. “I’m sorry, sir, about one of your police officers...”

“Good day, Inspector,” he said with finality as he slammed the phone’s receiver down.

* * *

 


	14. Persevered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. I was stuck with this chapter for a while. It wasn't particularly difficult to write but there was one part I found so frickin' irritating. How do you write a flashback within a flashback? I mean, one character is doing a flashback and the character within his flashback is also doing a flashback? Did I confuse you yet? Sorry I'm doing a hash of it. (T_T)
> 
> Anyway, I've asked 'writing' people what they think about it and most said don't even attempt it or if you have to, just stick to writing a normal flashback and nothing as complicated and convoluted as that. The reason behind this they said, is that you run a huge risk of confusing the hell out of your readers. If it wasn't written properly, it will affect the 'readability' of the main narrative and give it a disjointed feel.
> 
> But part of my brain wanted to argue that if you're using the omniscient (all-knowing) narrator, you could, in fact, make something like a flashback within a flashback work without making your story like Dante's stages of hell. Of course, it's easier said than done. I turned to the Internet for writing tips on this very issue and I found one that is very helpful here: http://www.writersdigest.com/qp7-migration-all-articles/qp7-migration-fiction/3_tips_for_writing_successful_flashbacks. 
> 
> So I put it into good use in this chapter. Hopefully, I did okay with it and didn't confuse the heck out of you. If I did, please give me a shout out on the comment section so I can remedy it. I like the story to make sense, so if my attempt at a flashback-within-a-flashback failed, I would either redo it or get rid of it entirely from the story.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading. :-)

* * *

Commissioner Selwyn Patterson took a deep breath and noisily let it out. He tilted his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders to release the tension building there. It wouldn’t do to keel over because of the pent-up anger and rage he was keeping inside. He needed to purge them out of his system if he wanted to live longer. 

But he really couldn’t believe the gall of DI Martin who had gone straight to him just to facilitate a quick transfer and without even acknowledging the fact that one of his valued police officers got hurt from doing the job they failed to do. ‘Most likely it was because he wanted to save face for being unable to arrest the wanted felons in his home turf,’ Selwyn grumbled.

From what he knew, the DI’s department even failed to send all the information his Honore team needed to gain advantage over the suspects before they set out to apprehend them. ‘Such inept idiots,’ he muttered under his breath. He would definitely have some choice words for the police commissioner of Guadeloupe.

He heard Margaret’s phone ring again and felt his stomach clench in fearful anticipation. They hadn’t received any word of Camille’s condition and he was getting very anxious about it. When he heard Margaret’s footsteps by the door of his office, he instinctively look up. 

“No word yet, sir, just that Camille and Inspector Poole have arrived at the hospital,” Margaret told him. He simply nodded in acknowledgement. He was in the middle of debating whether he should call his detective inspector or not when his mobile phone rang. He knew who it was.

“Patterson here,” he said readily as he caught a glimpse of Margaret going back to her desk. It was Richard on the other line. He could feel the frantic edge on the Inspector’s voice even though he tried to sound calm and coherent. 

“It’s Camille, sir. She’s been injured while trying to arrest one of the suspects,” said Richard making an effort to sound official and objective. “He got away from us and she got to him first. He decided to resist arrest instead of surrendering to her. They got into a fight. Camille got knocked unconscious. Fidel and I intervened just in time before the suspect dealt her more damage.”

Selwyn didn’t ask for a detailed explanation, that was what official reports were for. All he wanted to know and care about was how she got hurt and how badly.

“How is she?” he asked, his usual voice more fatherly than official.

“I don‘t know yet, sir. They are still patching her up,” the Inspector on the other line said, trying desperately to keep up the appearance of being unperturbed.

Selwyn’s thought immediately went to his long time friend. He loathed the idea of seeing her go through this ordeal again. “Has Catherine been informed?”

“No, sir,” Richard admitted. “I’m just waiting for the doctor to give me an update. Then I’ll go to Catherine’s to tell her personally. I will bring her here myself.”

“Good. I’ll make my way to the hospital shortly,” he said and ended the call.

After placing his mobile phone in his pocket, he ran his hand over his face. “Best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray,” he intoned as the feeling of dejavu washed over him. He couldn’t for the life of him understand how this could happen again to his one and only goddaughter, whose very life they all wanted to protect. 

He avoided going to a place where he could easily put the blame on something or someone. But the worry and anxiety were relentless, bringing with it a huge amount of guilt and self-doubt. Had he been wrong to have Camille transferred to Saint Marie? Would it had been better if she stayed in Guadeloupe? 

He shook his head as such irrationality. He vowed not to surrender to it. He leaned back on his chair and contemplated his next moves. There was still work to be done. 

“Are you alright, sir?” asked Margaret for the second time that day. She was standing by the doorway again, a sure sign that there was an incoming call for him.

“I think I already answered that question earlier, Margaret,” Selwyn pointed out. “Camille isn’t alright. She has been severely injured and the doctors are attending to her right at this very moment.” There was no point in hiding anything from Margaret, she had an uncanny sense of knowing if something dire was up. Besides, she wasn’t merely an assistant, she was also part of his ‘extended’ family in this small island. 

Margaret just nodded in understanding as she walked toward him and gently patted his shoulder. “She will get through this,” she said as tears lined her eyes. “Like she always does.” 

Selwyn gave her a small smile and a nod. “I hope so, Margaret.” He was in between feeling helpless and hopeful at the same time. But he learned a long time ago that being inert isn’t the right action to take when it comes to such a challenging time. Still, he allowed himself to say, “I just wish it wasn’t her.” 

Margaret didn’t say anything back. She wished it wasn’t Camille, too. She carefully schooled her features to mask her worries. They both knew there was no time to despair. They had to persevere and do the things that were needed to be done. 

“Chairperson Hardy will be available in half an hour. Would you like to talk to him over the phone so I can arrange it with Nancy,” she asked.

“No, I changed my mind. I needed to talk with him in person,” Selwyn said as he donned his Commissioner persona again. “There are a few things I want to discuss with him face-to-face. So please tell Nancy I’ll drop by his office within half an hour.”

He made to go back to what he was working on in the computer but Margaret spoke again. “Um, I have the Police Commissioner of Guadeloupe Sabine Picot on the line. Shall I put her through, sir?”

Selwyn set his jaw. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk with his fellow police commissioner, especially after the distasteful faux pas that her detective inspector committed earlier. 

“I could tell her you’re in a meeting, sir,” suggested Margaret helpfully when she sensed the Commissioner’s indecision.

Selwyn heaved a sigh. Sabine was a childhood friend and his long time supporter. They attended police academy together and competed like brother and sister. She had always been there for him when his police force in Saint Marie needed help. She was the main reason why he had accepted the request for assistance by the Deshaies Police Department. So he made the decision to hear what she had to say.

“Thank you, Margaret. Please put her through,” he finally said. He would make it a point to not discuss any prisoner transfers or jurisdiction issues with her. He hadn’t the time for it. Besides, he needed his team to build a water tight case against the suspect who injured Camille. He wanted to make sure that the scumbag would be put away for a very long time. If he was being honest, he would say he didn’t trust the members of the Deshaies Police to do a good job of it.

“Patterson here,” he said as he picked up the receiver. 

“Good afternoon, Selwyn,” the police commissioner on the other line answered in a voice both confident and forceful as opposed to the dulcet tone of his own.

“Not a good afternoon for me, Sabine,” Selwyn replied dryly.

“I heard. I’m sorry about your police officer,” said Sabine, not minding Selwyn’s sarcastic tone. 

“Oh so you have a reliable source then,” answered Selwyn back, making evident his sarcasm.

“Yes I do and I’m also sorry about my detective inspector’s boorishness about it. He thought that if he could facilitate the prisoners’ transfers right away, he would be able to save face for his and his department’s incompetence,” said Sabine, going straight to the point.

“Thank you, Sabine. I’m glad you thought of it that way,” said Selwyn, now in a calm mood. “I would have given him a thorough dressing down but I figured you would do a better job at it.”

“I sure did. It would be weeks before he gets the courage to get out of the hole he buried himself into,” assured Sabine. “Oh and expect to receive a formal letter of apology tomorrow morning.”

Selwyn couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s ferocity at giving discipline to her subordinates. As the only female police commissioner in the Caribbean Islands, she had battled against the odds and blatant discrimination with a quiet fierceness and intelligence rarely seen even among her male counterparts, including him. It was what he admired about her. In fact, he saw so much of Sabine in Camille. It was uncanny.

Like Sabine, Camille spoke her mind and was unafraid to be labeled insubordinate when she knew she was in the right. But also like his friend, Camille could be stubborn to a fault. He remembered how she reacted to the news of her transfer as detective sergeant in Saint Marie two years ago. She was furious. She didn’t want to be partnered with a pencil-pushing British copper. 

“Sir, I think I could do more for Saint Marie by being in Guadeloupe than working with that uptight Englishman,” said Camille, trying hard to keep her irritation at bay.

“Camille, we have gone through this. The team in Honore needed a very capable DS to complete it. Without you, we would have to close that department and leave the town without police officers to keep the peace in the community,” the Commissioner reasoned out smoothly.

But Camille wasn’t buying it. She simply hated the Englishman who blew her cover unexpectedly. If it hadn’t been for him, she would have been able to continue doing undercover police work.

“I can’t work with him. We are totally from a different background and our working styles are the complete opposite of each other. Seriously, sir, this is a bad idea. I won’t be able to do my job properly with him around,” Camille protested earnestly.

Selwyn sighed inwardly. Here he thought it would all be a piece of cake since she was his goddaughter and also his subordinate. But no, convincing Camille was easier said than done. It was like pulling teeth with a pair of long nose pliers. ‘I think Sabine has influenced her too much,’ he thought to himself.

“Think of it as two polar opposites complementing each other,” he said with a smile. “Your talent at reading people combining with his skills at solving baffling crimes would make you two a formidable team.”

Camille thought about this for a moment. Selwyn could see her recalling her encounters with Detective Inspector Richard Poole when she was doing undercover work on the human trafficking case. He knew because of the way she narrowed her eyes in distaste at the memory of the British Inspector's difficult and pompous personality. When she pretended to be Charlie Hulme’s cleaner, she detected that self-important attitude a mile away. Camille had to recount word-for-word one such encounter to the Commissioner to make a point.

_“Who are you?” she asked as she got up from the sand-ridden floor._

_“I’m Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the Metropolitan Police. Who are you?” he said airily as he tried to be casual with the mop in his hand._

_“I’m...um...I am Mr. Hulme’s cleaner,” she lied almost smoothly._

_“You’re his cleaner?” he said, trying to keep the disbelief in his tone of voice._

_She just nodded, catching herself from firing back an angry retort._

_“Well, I won’t get in your way,” he said as he handed Camille the mop. “You got your work cut out.”_

_“Thank you, sir,” she answered, looking at the mop that was handed to her and just shaking her head. “So are you a friend of Charlie’s?”_

_“Something like that,” he said as he walked across the room to get to a desk._

_“You’re from England, right?” she asked._

“ _Ah you can tell, can you?” he said, looking smug._

_“Yeah,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she managed to momentarily raise an eyebrow at his smug attitude._

Selwyn had to admit it was a hilarious first meeting. But he didn't dare bring that up with Camille, especially when she was so adamantly trying to wriggle her way out of this partnership. 

“Sir, it’s not going to work. We are just too different, we would just bring embarrassment and chaos to the department and to your office. We won’t be able to solve any crimes because we’ll just end up fighting each other. I can’t do that to you, sir,” she said to the Commissioner hoping to flatter his ego and appeal to his dislike of discord and infighting among his team.

Selwyn just listened patiently as she lobed one reason after another to get off her transfer to Saint Marie. She was indeed relentless (so like Sabine, he sighed again). But he had enough and so, it was time to pull rank on his goddaughter, which was always his best but last resort. 

“Detective Sergeant Bordey! While I appreciate you telling me about your concerns with this partnership, I see no point in this protest. As a member of the Royal Saint Marie Police Force, you are obligated to work with any type of colleagues that the higher-ups assigns to you. It is part of being a senior police officer. Now I trust you to be professional enough to make this collaboration between you and Detective Inspector Richard Poole work for the peace and security of Saint Marie and the Honore community. Do I make myself clear?”

Camille knew that when her godfather used that tone of voice, he meant business and utmost obedience. He didn’t say it was an order outright, but he expected her to understand it without being told. “Yes, sir,” she said in resignation.

“Now be there at the police station at 1600 hours. I will formally introduce you two to each other and to the rest of your team,” said the Commissioner with a hint of glee in his voice.

“Don’t blame me if I accidentally kill him,” muttered Camille under her breath.

“Camille,” warned the Commissioner.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there,” Camille conceded at last.

Selwyn thought DI Poole didn’t protest too much. When the whole truth and logic about his secondment to Saint Marie were laid out to him, he folded quite early. Maybe because he had more experience being thrust into situations beyond his control and liking, the Commissioner surmised. But the moment Camille entered the station, all hell broke lose again.

_“No,” Richard said rather rudely when he saw Camille entered the station._

_“Tell me about it,” Camille said, crossing her arms to show him she wasn’t happy being there either._

_“You’re undercover,” he pointed out._

_“Was undercover. You kind of blew that when you arrested me, remember?” Camille said, between gritted teeth._

_“Come on, no one knows you’re a copper,” Richard pointed out again._

_“I do,” piped up Marlon, who was inside the cell and listening in on the discussion._

_“If a crook like Marlon knows, then everyone in the underworld will know she’s a copper, my brethren,” said the Commissioner to Richard._

_“Oi, I’m not a crook!” Marlon protested._

_“Yes, you are,” said by almost everyone. Even the goat._

_“Can’t you go back to Guadeloupe?” Richard asked Camille._

_“Can’t you go back to London?” Camille threw at him._

_“I’m trying,” said Richard, clearly annoyed._

_“Try harder,” challenged Camille._

_“I can’t work with her,” whinged Richard._

_“I can’t work with him,” complained Camille._

Selwyn almost laughed at the two being completely unaware of how in sync they were back then. He knew he had made a very good decision of bringing them both on the island. They simply complemented each other’s talents and abilities perfectly. He hoped that they would learn to work together and not against each other. 

Within two years, crime resolution rate on the island was at an all-time high, proving to him that Richard and Camille had worked harmoniously together. He was in awe of the whole team's performance although he seldom commend them for it. He preferred to support them quietly in the background. But now that effective partnership hung on the balance because of what happened to Camille. It would be a tough road ahead for the whole team. He shook his head out of this worrying thought and went back to the present conversation.

“Look Sabine, If you want to discuss prisoner transfer or any jurisdictional issue with me right now, I’m sorry but I don’t have the time. It’s not my priority at the moment as I’m on my way to the hospital to see how my police officer is doing,” said Selwyn rather bluntly.

“Who said I’m going to do that,” said Sabine, feeling a bit slighted at her friend’s directness and dismissal. “I just called to say my apologies for the knucklehead move my DI had done to you earlier and most importantly, to extend my solidarity and support to a fellow police commissioner and friend at a difficult time. I know how hard it is to keep one’s composure. If you need any help, you know you can count on me.”

“Thank you, Sabine. I appreciate your understanding and support,” said Selwyn, feeling a bit contrite at his lack of tact.

“So who’s your injured officer?” asked Sabine with genuine interest to know. The Carribean islands may be separated from each other by the infinite sea, but everyone on the islands had connection to everyone else, one way or the other.

“Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey,” Selwyn said simply.

“Camille? Oh Lord, how did it happen? How is she?” asked Sabine, suddenly feeling frantic at the news.

“Sabine, I don’t know yet. Like I said I’m on my way to the hospital right now,” Selwyn pointed out, careful not to lose his patience. He was already tense and anxious as it is, he didn’t want her own panic and worry adding to his own.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Selwyn. Yes, of course. You need to be on your way,” replied Sabine, going back to her usual tone but she couldn’t resist adding: “Would you call or text me how she is? I really want to know. You owe me that, Selwyn.”

“I know, Sabine. She was briefly in your care in Guadeloupe and I remember the tug-of-war you had me go through just to bring her here in Saint Marie. You made it difficult til the very end,” said Selwyn, again trying not to sound tactless and ungrateful.

“I didn’t want to let her go without a fight. She’s very competent and smart. I just see so much potential in her,” said Sabine defensively. She really wanted Camille to stay in Guadeloupe but it appeared Camille was very loyal to her home island and to her mentor.

Selwyn remained quiet for a while, mulling this thought over. Camille had so much potential in her chosen career but now, she was in a hospital critically injured by the very same career that held so much promise for her The irony was just too much for him. “She’s one of my best officers, Sabine,” he said, sounding a little broken. “I don’t think anyone can replace her.”

Sabine understood only too well what Selwyn was going through. As police commissioners, they had seen so many young and promising police officers severely injured or die in the line of duty. It became twice as difficult when the officers they carefully groomed and mentored met the same fate. The feeling was akin to losing one’s own child and his or her potential. It was always devastating.

“Be strong, my brother,” encouraged Sabine. It was the only words of comfort she could give him.

“Thank you, Sabine. I’ll talk to you when we’re ready with our case against one of your wanted felons. My team just needs time,” said Selwyn, bringing his composure back.

“Do whatever is necessary, Selwyn. But please, keep me updated on Camille’s condition,” said Sabine seriously.

“I will. ‘Bye,” said Selwyn and replaced the receiver. He felt emotionally drained but he willed himself to continue working. He looked at the time and made a quick call on his mobile. 

“Dear, it’s Camille. Yes, she’s at the hospital now. No, but DI Poole would handle that. I want you to arrange something for Catherine. She would need help. I know. Hush, don’t go there. We don’t know her condition yet. Yes, I’m on my way to the hospital. Shall I leave you to it? Yes, I will tell you as soon as I have news. I’m alright, I’m just worried. Thank you, dear.”

After talking to his wife, he tidied his desk and turned off his computer. He got his hat off the coat rack and walked out of his office. “Margaret, please tell Nancy that I’m on my way to Chairperson Hardy’s office. I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” he announced.

“Will do, Commissioner,” said Margaret. “You’re off to the hospital after?”

“Yes,” he said as he walked toward the door. But seeing her expectant look made him turn around to add, “I’ll text you when I have any news.”

“Thank you, Commissioner,” replied Margaret, feeling quite grateful at being kept in the loop on the things that mattered most. She hoped and prayed he would have some good news on Camille soon.

* * *

 


End file.
